Fire Rekindled
by theeskimo1986
Summary: Fire and Ice Sequel, so read that one first...Claire and Allie, Wesker's daughter, are in trouble. A mysterious benefactor is helping from the wings, appointing Leon as her guardian. They discover that Wesker has been cloned; LeonxClaire, WeskerxClaire?
1. Prologue

I do not own Resident Evil, or any of it's characters. Only the lucky bastards who work at Capcom can boast that...Bastards =)

A brief warning to the reader: Many characters in this story are entirely fictional; even more so than the usual suspects. I found in the process of writing this, that sub-characters were required, to give the story more depth. Hopefully, you enjoy my poetic license, rather than condemn it, but I'll understand if all the purists in the Resident Evil fandom hate me, spit on me, despise me, or just plain want to vomit down my neck after decapitating me. I sort of hate myself, too; but my feverent wish is that you enjoy this story for what it is...A work of fiction.

Fire Rekindled

Prologue

A man steps out of a sedan. He is wearing a black dress suit, the kind that business men wear to important meetings, the ones that make them seem pretentious and unapproachable. His blue collar cologne was obvious to Jill's eyes, and she casually turns left; the first door she could find. Praying that the knob will turn, she's distressed to find that it's an apartment building, a long list of call buttons on the side of the door.

Turning her head for a quick glance at the man in the suit, Jill swallows her doubts and presses a random button in the fray, holding it down. A faint buzzing noise issues, and just when she's about to give up on that person and pick another button, a man's voice comes over the speaker.

"Hello? Who's this?" The voice is distorted and warped sounding, making it hard to hear the words clearly.

"It's Jill. Hurry, open up, it's wet out here."

"Jill? I don't know anyone by that name. I think.." He started, but Jill held down the button, cutting him off.

"Open up the door, baby, You'll remember me." Jill said, taking a shot in the dark with this one; the man in the suit was looking around now, scanning the faces in the late afternoon crowd, thick clouds making it dark outside. The day's earlier heat pressed in, the humidity making the ends of her hair curl against her skin. She couldn't let herself be seen; it could cost them everything.

"Oh, will I? What do you look like, maybe a face with the name?" Jill groaned, she was already tiring of this game; she pressed the button down, lowering her face to the speaker.

"Why don't you let me come up so you can see me? I'm all wet..." Jill's voice was purposely seductive, or what she hoped was, anyway.

The buzzer rung, and she heard the 'click' of the door's lock disengaging. She slipped hurriedly inside, shaking off the little droplets of rain on her coat. Sighing, Jill climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, her heart hammering in her chest. They'd shut down five city blocks at least if they found any trace of her; which would put Chris in danger, too. They'd gotten separated at the bus station when Jill had spotted one of "The Suits" talking to his sleeve while leaning up against a wall.

So the pair had split, their com links silent. It had been two hours since Jill had seen her partner, but she just couldn't seem to shake her pursuers, bumping into one every few blocks. It was insane how closely they'd been following her, honestly it made her nervous as hell.

A door at the end of the hall opened, and Jill's hand touched her gun in the shoulder holster, but hesitated when she was sure that she saw someone familiar step out into the dimly lit corridor.

"Hey, pretty lady; where'd you go?" His voice rang out, teasing. Walking forward, gun hand itching, Jill was silent as she moved in the shadows. The tall man in front of her turned his head to look at a noise behind him, so Jill moved lightning quick. Her gun was out, pointed at the back of his head.

"Here I am," Jill whispered, her lips turning up into a victorious smile. She'd caught him unawares. Perfect.

In a move that was quicker than she could see, he'd turned around and grabbed her wrist, pulling her handgun out of her grip and pinning her against the wall effortlessly. He smirked at her, the dimples in his cheeks showing.

"Nice try, partner." Chris said, amusement shining in his eyes. "But I'm better at this than you are." Jill snapped her teeth at his face, a little piqued that he'd gotten her...again. The man had reflexes better than a cat's.

"Not fair, you knew I was coming." Jill defended, a mock frown puckering her face. Chris let her go, and handed her pistol back to her.

"Hey, you're the one who pulled on me. I just reacted." Chris shrugged nonchalantly, turning back into the apartment he'd come out of. He gestured for her to follow. Looking in, she was shocked to see that it was bare; not one spec of furniture, no chair, couch, table, lamp, nothing.

"What is this? Did you finally rent yourself an apartment and decide to move off my couch?" Jill asked, eyes large and her smile huge. Comically hopeful.

"No, dumb-dumb. It was empty when I got here; I've been holed up for an hour or better. They had a dog. I feel bad about having to shoot it; German Shepard." Chris pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, flipping it open with one hand and as he shook one loose from the pack, his Zippo lighter materialized in his other hand, lit and waiting. All the movements fluid, sure. His muscular chest rose as he inhaled deeply, and Jill looked out the window hurriedly, avoiding his piercing blue eyes.

"You did what was necessary. No fault in that," Jill holstered her weapon, pulling out her own pack. She could feel Chris' eyes on her for a moment, before he dropped slowly to the floor, his back against the wall, his arm resting on his bent up knee. It was still awkward, after all this time, after living together again; their break up had created a gulf between them. His dating Sheva had made that gulf an ocean.

"Awful waste, though." Chris said, dragging on his smoke and staring off into space. They stayed like this for a while, quiet and still. Jill sank against the wall across from him, and closed her eyes; exhaustion pressing in on her like a ten ton weight.

The sun outside sank down lower, creeping around the slitted blinds with brilliant oranges and pinks, casting the room in an omnipresent glow. It wasn't uncomfortable, being in the same room with him, they were still good enough friends to sit in silence. Another cigarette appeared in his mouth smoothly, and he lit it quickly, before clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry, you know," the apology fell out around his lit smoke, loud after the silence. His eyes searched her face, sought to catch her stare. Jill felt her eyes shifting to avoid his searching blue orbs. "Jill?"

She met his gaze finally, reluctantly. Her wounds were still raw, gaping; her feelings still muddled over the whole affair.

"Yeah," She said lamely. "Me too." She didn't want to hear he was sorry, didn't want to know that he regretted anything. Jill had no desire to argue, not now. It wasn't the place, nor the time, and anything he had to say to her on the subject could wait.

"Alright, fair enough," he said, disappointment and anger seeping into his tone. "You want to hole up for the night, or make our grand, daring escape under the cover of darkness?" He smiled easily, the foul mood gone and forgotten as only he could do so quickly. She thought of staying, mulled the idea over. They could sleep in shifts, wait it out. But then again, if they had brought out one dog, what's to say they didn't have fifty more at their disposal? Besides, if they stayed here, she'd more than likely be forced to deal with more awkward attempts at apologies.

"We'll wait for two more hours; let it get good and dark. You get the first shift, I'm gonna sleep for a few winks." Jill commanded briskly, taking off her jacket and wadding it up on the floor as a pillow. She lay on her back, adjusting so that her guns weren't biting into her sides so bad, and closed her eyes. Sleep claimed her quickly, dragging her down into dreamless nothingness.

"We've lost them, sir." one suit said to another. The first man cringed as he watched the color rise in his boss' face.

"Well, then, find them, lieutenant." The older man gritted through his teeth, a vein popping in his forehead as he kept his voice low.

"Sir, working on it. I have every man on it; a perimeter set at five square blocks; but Intel said.." He was cut short.

"I don't give a damn, Lieutenant Baker, what the hell Intel told you. I want those two in custody five minutes ago, do you understand me?" The older man said, his voice venomous. A third man walked up, saluting to the two, before falling to attention.

"What is it?" The one in charge bit out, his temper barely in check.

"Command says to pack up. Primary target has been located, eighty miles south of our current location." The commander felt a trill of excitement; Project Phoenix was all that mattered. Forget his personal stock in this little chase; Chris Redfield could wait until another day.

"Tell the men to regroup. Our mission parameters have just changed." A grin split the Corporal's face, and he turned his back on his subordinates, showing the other side of his visage. A jagged scar, nearly four inches long, running from temple to jawline, puckered there, prominent and ugly. He'd have his revenge, one way or the other. A Redfield was a Redfield after all; and he'd already assassinated two of them.

That had been before he'd been scarred, before he'd ever met Chris Redfield.

An Air Force Corporal, he'd once been Redfield's superior officer. And the son of a bitch had cut up his face in a rage; Oh yes, Chris owed him. He'd have his pound of flesh before this was over.


	2. Chapter 1: The Stranger & Allie

Chapter One: The Stranger and Allie's First Word

"Here comes the airplane! Open the hanger!" Claire's lips vibrated crazily, and Allie's eyes lit up as she opened her mouth wide. Her small, stubby hands clapped together happily as her lips smacked loudly. "Is that good?" Allie nodded her agreement.

Claire smiled at her toe-headed daughter, scooping out more of the mushed banana from the little jar. The phone began to ring. Sighing, Claire set the spoon in front of Allie, who promptly picked it up and flung the gooey food at her own face, eyes squeezing shut before she let out a high pitched giggle. Leaving her daughter thus occupied, Claire turned to the kitchen counter and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Claire? Claire Redfield?" It was a man, a voice she wasn't familiar with, slightly accented with some foreign tongue. British?

"Yes, this is. Who is this?" Claire asked, glancing back at Allie still playing happily with the spoon and mush.

"What I'm going to tell you is important, Claire, so listen closely. Pack up your bags, and get out of your house. Don't ask me questions, there's little time. You're in danger, Claire. I can't tell you more on the phone, but I'll give you my number so that you can contact me when you're safe."

"Who is this?! What do you mean, I'm in danger?" Claire's mind raced, a bubble of panic welling in her chest.

"I'm doing this as a favor for an old friend. Just do as I'm telling you, Claire. It's what Wesker asked me to do. I've been watching, waiting; the suits up at Tri-Cell are after the Progenitor Virus, and without Wesker..."

"Wesker? What..." Claire stuttered out. She knew instantly what they were after, and no matter the source, Claire would never take a chance with her child's life. They were after Allie, after Wesker's "mimetic memory", as he had once said. Grabbing desperately for pen and paper, she asked, "What's the number?"

The stranger on the other line rattled off a number, before the line went dead. Placing the phone back on it's cradle, Claire turned around, her head reeling. And then she was moving, grabbing up Allie, and heading to the garage. Ever since she'd gotten back from Egypt, Claire had a bag packed for an emergency situation like this; years of hiding from Umbrella Corp. had ingrained the paranoia in her brain. Stuffing the bags into her trunk along with a tire iron, Claire buckled Allie into her car seat.

"Wide?" Allie bubbled out, her bright blue eyes twinkling as she looked at her mother.

"Yes, honey, we're going for a ride." Claire answered, her mind turning over where to go, who to call; and then Claire stopped, her hands frozen on the seat belt buckle. Allison Wesker Redfield had just spoken her very first word.

A sobbing laugh broke unbidden from Claire's mouth as she hastily finished tightening the seat belt, tugging it taut to make sure it was secure, before closing the door, and climbing into the driver's seat. Tears were coursing down Claire's cheeks, she'd known that this day was coming, knew that as long as Tri-Cell, and companies like it existed her and her daughter would be in constant danger. But no amount of knowing could prepare you for the moment when you were fighting for your very life. All the training in the world is useless if you froze in the moment. It was a fact she'd learned the hard way, long ago in that hell hole of a town where all this madness began over ten years ago.

Pulling herself together, she hit the button for the garage door, waited as it rose slowly. No cars, no flashing lights; Claire let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as relief flooded her. She was headed out of town, any direction would do. Taking a right, Claire headed away from the place she'd called home for the last year; towards the highway. The gas gage registered at three quarters of a tank; and Claire planned to drive until almost on E. More gas, and she'd drive until she couldn't keep her eyes open. Hotel, motel; somewhere to lay low for a few days. She'd have to ditch the car; and she couldn't risk calling her brother or Leon; not yet, at least.

All these things, these little details, spun through her head. She might risk a call to Rebecca. Becky had quit this game years ago, making a decent living working for a hospital just outside of Lansing; head nurse (something which all of her friends cracked jokes about regularly). It would be a risk, but a minor one. Claire knew she'd have to ditch her cell phone soon; she'd pick up a cheap throw-away model somewhere before calling anyone. The sun was settling over the horizon, and she sighed, wishing not for the first time that none of this had ever happened...well, almost none of it.

Claire glanced at the sleeping form of Allie in her rear view mirror, and smiled. No, not everything would be changed if she could do it all over again. She felt a pang of sadness as she thought of Allie's father. If only her and Wesker had met in different circumstances, a totally different scenario; there were so many "if only" things in her life. What would that have been like, knowing him before all of this?

Shaking her head to clear all of the unwanted thoughts from her brain, Claire dialed Rebecca's number, and waited patiently as it rang...and rang....and rang some more. After what seemed like an eternity, the machine picked up.

"Hi!" Becky's voice stated cheerfully. "I'm not home right now, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back with you as soon as I get back." A faint beep followed, and Claire took a breath, deciding whether or not to leave a message.

"It's Claire. Becky, I'm in trouble. I need you to call Chris for me, I've got to ditch this phone soon, and I can't tell you where I am. Allie's safe, I'm safe; just tell him that I'll call soon. Let him know not to go back to my place. I'm not home, and I'm not even sure where I am. I had to leave in a hurry. Well, I'll talk to you soon, and wish me luck." Claire hung up the phone. After a minute, she rolled the window down, and chucked it into the ditch line, watched it smash against a rock, kept driving.

Claire's brain raced, trying to formulate a plan. Nothing stuck out forthright. She couldn't go to Chris, Jill, Sheva, Leon, Barry, Becky; wracking her brain for any more contacts. Carlos, maybe, but she hated getting hit on every two seconds, and she wasn't even sure that he still lived in the states. Claire hadn't called him in a while. Running low on contacts, Claire thought of everyone she'd ever known. All of her ex boyfriends, all of her old college buddies; no one that she could contact.

And then it hit her.

Claire was alone in this. No one to save her this time. Tears clouded her vision, and she had to pull over as her silent sobs made it impossible to drive anymore.

After a while, her tears dried up, and Claire hit the road again, the gas tank already getting low.


	3. Chapter 2: A Brother's Promise & Ghost

Chapter Two: A Brother's Promise and Ghosts Past

Snow swirled outside the window, momentarily obscuring his view of the street six stories below. Only a few cars were brave enough to attempt the slick pavement, and their lights were dim in the sterile grayness of twilight. He hated the snow here in the city, where it came down dirty. Not white, just gray. Depressing, really.

Bringing the lit cigarette to his lips, the man inhaled deeply, his thin chest expanding painfully as the smoke filled his tired old lungs. Getting old was a bitch. That thought brought a smile to his lips, and he chuckled low in his throat; the sound raspy to his own ears.

Mikhail had little time left. Pushing sixty one, he'd been diagnosed with lung cancer two years ago. The doctor had given him six months then, if he quit smoking. And yet, here he was, sitting in his office on top of the world, puffing away on the Camel non-filters like he hadn't a single care in the universe.

The laughing fit hadn't been good for him at all; he started hacking uncontrollably, little dots clouding his vision and the pains shooting off in his head like miniature land mines. No, not much time left.

He frowned at the clock, and wiped at his mouth. The spot of red on his fingertips set his hands trembling, and Mikhail looked impatiently at the phone on his desk.

Damn Wesker! All he wanted to do was lie down and die in peace; but the infernal man's memory made it impossible. Old debts...

"I owe you my life, old friend," Mikhail spoke to the empty room, his accent thick. "You had better hope that I live long enough to repay you, brother." Turning away from the window, Mikhail's attention was drawn to the full length mirror on the opposite wall. Pale skin stretched across his gaunt face, and his too thin frame was tall and becoming lanky. Once, he had looked much like his younger sibling, but time and his two pack a day habit had taken it's toll. His eyes were the only thing that hadn't changed; the piercing cobalt blue, identical to blued steel. The eyes of his baby brother, who had been sold to Umbrella by his mother; a dirty common street whore born and bred in the back alleys of New Orleans.

They were a constant reminder of his promise, these eyes of his. He sighed, and sank warily into his red leather chair, the last memory of his brother filtering through his brain.

"Mikhail, I have a...favor to ask you." His brother's voice. So clear and sure, commanding, yet quiet. How Mikhail had envied him that.

Mikhail could almost hear the words as he had that day, a year ago. It had been the last time he'd seen Albert alive; his men had only come back with tiny pieces of his brother's body; he'd kept his end of the bargain and died...It was Mikhail's turn to deliver his own end of their blood pact. Keep Claire Redfield and his child safe, in return for Wesker's DNA; a fair enough trade. A life for a life...

With the harvested organs of his brother's clone, Mikhail could live longer. Maybe forever, if what his brother had claimed proved true. The clone's lungs were only days away from being ready. The thought made Mikhail smile. He'd wait, of course, until Claire and the child were safe. There was always the slight possibility that he wouldn't make it through the surgery and Mikhail hated to break a promise.

Drumming his fingers on the dark mahogany desktop, Mikhail willed the phone to ring. As CEO of Tri-Cell Russian Corporation, he had a certain amount of pull in the company, but despite his best efforts to keep Wesker's 'family' out of site, Project Phoenix had been discovered. And he was risking everything to keep his word.

Claire yawned, her body aching and knees popping painfully as she climbed out of her Ford Taurus. Allie was heavy in her arms, and she barely opened her eyes as Claire shifted to grab the suitcase out of the trunk. Juggling the baby, keys, and case towards their rented room, Claire locked the door awkwardly behind herself, before dropping the suitcase and gently laying Allie on the bed. She kissed the sleeping child's forehead lightly, before heading to the chair in the corner of the room and pulled her Glock from the back of her pants, sitting in quiet contemplation.

Something was poking her leg, and Claire shifted to pull the item out of her jean pocket. A small piece of thin laminated cardboard with seven digits on it. She turned the little slip of paper with her mysterious benefactor's phone number on it over in her fingers, debating on whether or not to call from the hotel's land line. Who was he, to even care about her and Allie?

'Well,' Claire reasoned with herself. 'If I don't call, I won't know.' Decision made, she picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Hello?" His unmistakable British accent greeted her. She thought about hanging up, but a look at Allie gave her courage.

"You told me to call?" She played it smooth, still not ready to let her guard down.

"Ah, Miss Redfield. I've been waiting for you." His tone was velvety, timbre low. A mesmerizing voice, and it struck her that she had heard someone else talk like this; not as heavily accented, but still... "You're safe, then? Is Allison well?"

"We're fine. What's going on? Who are you?" Claire asked, mindful of her slumbering daughter. More questions burned in her mind, but she didn't want to push it just yet.

"You're direct, I like that. My name is Mikhail Wesker. I'm Albert's older brother." His words were simple, the effect complex. All the old hurt of Wesker's death, all the guilt. Claire was saddened by how little she really had ever known about the man she had loved; still loved even after his death. Albert Wesker had been a maniac, insane; but he had loved her, and she'd never told him how she felt about him. "My brother asked me to look after you and Allison if anything happened to him."

"Why now? Why haven't you come to me before?" Claire kept up her facade of confidence, while inwardly she felt as if she were dying. Just as her life was returning to normal, everything hit the fan...it was as if nothing would ever be right.

"I didn't think that you'd appreciate...my kind in your company," he paused, and a frown etched Claire's brow at his words. "I'm, for lack of a better term, a very important man; a business man..." Things were clicking together in Claire's brain.

"You work for Tri-Cell," Claire's voice was plaintive; this was a statement and not a question. "So why help me, even if Albert was your brother?"

"Because blood means more to me than my business. Because I keep my promises. Because I loved my brother, Claire. I was all he had left," guilt seeped into Mikhail's tone, and he continued. "Do you mind if I fill in some blanks for you? A bit of back story, before we discuss more current events?"

"Yes," Claire whispered. It was all she had ever wanted; to know the man she had loved so fiercely, so briefly.

"Our father was a business man, much like myself. My mother was a respectable woman, Albert's mother...a common street walker from America. Like many business men, our father was too busy for me; and my mother. He often stayed late at the office, traveled. It wasn't until after my mother's death when I was sixteen did I learn of Albert's existence. I was twenty nine before I met him. By then, our father had died of a massive heart attack, and it was at the funeral when I first laid my eyes on Albert. He was twenty years old, a scrawny looking boy, really.

"But he did not have the eyes of a child; I don't know if he ever really did. There was just something about the way he walked, carried himself; He would be great someday. Important. I saw his potential, and with the urging from Spencer himself, I offered him a position at Umbrella in the research division. Albert flourished there; one of our most intelligent scientists. I was so proud of him..."

"Was it always business?" Claire asked after his silence ticked on for a few beats too long.

"No, Claire. My brother and I, we were inseparable outside of work. Our playtime was the most valuable; clubs and parties, various social functions...until Birkin. William Birkin was the breaking point. Why my brother wouldn't speak to me for five long years."

"What happened, Mikhail?" Claire queried.

"Albert's work was intense. When Birkin showed up, it became grueling. The two were in constant competition; rivals. But being the two most brilliant in their field, I paired them. And that's when William gave my brother his first taste of true power." Mikhail's story was broken suddenly by a series of gut-wrenching coughs.

"Are you alright?" Claire was worried when the fit continued beyond a minute's span. This man really sounded sick, and not in the usual way that Tri-Cell employees were.

"As fine as I'll ever be again. I'm in the last stages of lung cancer." His voice was raspy, and Claire felt a surge of pity for him. Mikhail continued, as if nothing were wrong. "The T-Virus was not Birkin's work, but between him and my brother, the two were able to create something infinitely more promising; the G-Virus. I know you are familiar with it's unique properties, after surviving Raccoon City. Albert talked about you, at great length."

"About me?" Claire asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes. I don't know if he ever told you...but I see no reason why I should keep the truth from you now, Claire. When he first met you, on Rockfort Island; he was able to extract a sample of your DNA. His reasons for the sample were simple. He wished to know if you had been infected with the T-Veronica virus, something usable in his further studies. My brother, despite his obvious lack of moral ethics, was obsessed with ending the world's suffering. He could not see the tree, in spite of the forest; a backwards kind of philosophy. Albert always was obsessive.

"But back to the point. My brother found an anomaly in your genetic structure similar to his own; the same genetic fluke that allowed his own DNA to meld with the G-Virus without the usual horrific mutations. In you, Claire, he had the start to his vision of a perfect world. You were the key.

"Albert confided in me all of this. He was confident that with you, he could end the suffering of the masses. Not to mention the fact that he was obviously besotted by you. You were his obsession; not Uroboros, Claire. Uroboros was just a means to an end. His way of wiping the slate clean. To be quite honest with you, Albert was in love with you from the moment he saw you; however, his analytical mind just couldn't come to terms with that truth. But I knew my brother well, Claire. Well enough to know when he'd swapped one obsession for the next."

"Since the island?" Claire's mind swarmed with doubts; but for some reason she believed Mikhail's words.

"Yes. Shortly before he...kidnapped you, he came to me. Laid out all of his plans, including his end game scenarios." Mikhail paused.

"End game scenarios? As in plural?" Of course, Wesker would have mapped out all his options.

"He had two possible outcomes to his plan. Either it would work, or it wouldn't. And that's when he made me swear to keep an eye on you if anything should happen to him. Albert believed in Newton's third law; anything that could go wrong, probably would. Keeping his options open was what kept him alive all those years. He always had a contingency plan, just in case."

"What was in it for you? I know you were his brother, Mikhail, but I have a feeling that he had to bring something to the table for you to agree to him bringing Tri-Cell down." Claire asked, curious.

Mikhail laughed then, a sharp and low barking type noise. "Yes, I did get something out of the deal. How perceptive of you. Perhaps you've just been dealing with my kind for far too long. I got his DNA. Something that I hope will produce a cure for my ailment, or at least a few donor organs. It's amazing the things that these scientists can do these days.

"I hope that this doesn't affect how you feel about me, Claire. I know how you feel about people like me, but I assure you that everything I've ever done was in the hopes of providing better health care. Surely, you can appreciate that."

"Yes, I can." Claire thought over her next words carefully; she didn't want to offend Mikhail, so perhaps it would be better to skirt that line of conversation altogether. "But what am I supposed to do, with your men out there searching for me? For my brother? Isn't there something you can do, if you're so important?"

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid I've done all that I can while still covering my own ass, Claire. I'm risking everything just to keep my word as is. I've had false leads planted, created as much red tape as I could; and for a year it's worked. I'm afraid that I can only do so much from my position. I do only still _work_ for the company. However, I do have a plan, if you're willing to hear it."

"I'm open to suggestion." Claire said, staring at her daughter.

"Well, I'm going to send you passports and some fake id. I need to talk to you in person, and then we can go about clearing your names. I don't give a damn about this company, or it's downfall, and I'd like to see it's demise while I still live." Mikhail said.

"I have my conditions. I want my brother to come. I won't go unless he comes." Claire was being stubborn, but if this was another trap...

"I was thinking about someone a little less...conspicuous. Would you be opposed to Kennedy accompanying you? His good name is still standing, and while I'd love to meet this brother of yours, I'm not entirely sure that I can smuggle the two of you in plain sight." Mikhail suggested.

"Alright. Where can I pick up the documents?" Claire asked, quickly agreeing. Leon was just as capable, and probably would be easier to deal with than Chris. Chris still got funny whenever she talked about Wesker, his face going an ugly shade of puce whenever the name was mentioned.

"They are already en route. I've picked up your location via satellite, and Agent Kennedy will be there within the hour. I've arranged for Rebecca Chambers to take Allison for you whilst you are away on..."

"No." Claire cut Mikhail off mid-sentence. Panic closed her throat momentarily, and her breathing became erratic. She couldn't....but it was Becky, her friend.

"Claire, it would do you no good to get yourself and Allison captured. You know that Miss Chambers is more than capable." Mikhail said patiently.

"Alright, I see your point." Claire was crying, tears tracing their way hotly down her cheeks at the thought of leaving her daughter, even with a friend. She'd never once even hired a babysitter, and truth be told, she was scared to leave Allie with anyone. This would be the first time she'd ever be away from the child, and the very thought chilled her to the bone. Allison was her world.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow for lunch. Kennedy will escort you to Paris, and we'll dine in the Eiffel Tower. I assure you, it will be a crowded place. The diner is always busy there. Till then, sleep well, Claire Redfield."

"You too, Mikhail Wesker." Claire whispered, awed by how fast these events were going. She hung up the phone softly, and wept.

It seemed like a few minutes had gone by when a soft knock on the door brought Claire abruptly back to consciousness; she must have fallen asleep in the chair. Quietly stealing to her feet and grabbing the Glock off the stand beside her, she walked to the door, and peered through the tiny peep hole. She let out a relieved sigh when she saw Leon's familiar face there, waiting patiently.

Opening the door, she smiled brightly at him, and pulled him into a fierce hug as soon as he stepped through the threshold.

"Claire, are you alright?" Leon asked her, worry seeping out of his gray eyes. He closed the door behind him, and engaged the lock.

"I'm fine, for the most part. When are we leaving?" Claire whispered, gesturing towards Allie's sleeping form. Leon's gaze fell apologetically on the child, before he plopped on the chair she'd been occupying just moments before.

"This Mikhail guy, he seems pretty shifty to me. What do you think?" Leon said in hushed tones, cutting to the chase as usual.

"I don't know what to think about him, Leon. But what other choice do we have but to trust him?" Claire said, pacing. She rubbed her eyes; they felt like she'd been hit in the face with a sand blaster and all the grit was left behind her eyelids.

"You look like hell, girl. When's the last time you slept?" Leon got up from his spot, and grabbed her by the elbow to lead her to the chair. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready. The airport's only fifteen minutes from here, but we still have to drop Allie off at Becky's place."

"I don't want to leave her, Leon." Claire said, her voice catching in her throat. Leon dropped down on his haunches in front of her, and laid his hand on her shoulder gently.

"I know, Claire. But my orders were pretty clear cut." Leon said. "Besides, how am I supposed to protect you and her all by myself?"

"So this is just another mission?" Claire was incredulous. Anger drove her to her feet as she pushed past Leon and resumed her earlier pacing.

"You know that's not the only reason why I'm here. Don't be mad at me, Claire." his eyes caught hers from across the room, begging for understanding. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, a frown creasing his brow. "You know I'd have come if you'd asked me. Why didn't you call?"

It was a question that took her aback. She knew why, but telling him...

"I didn't want to get you involved." Claire said weakly, knowing she couldn't lie to him.

"You should have called," The reprimand was brief, and Claire was thankful that she didn't get the lecture she was expecting.

"Then we should go now. I want to get this done so we can go back to our lives," Claire spat the words out, feeling sick. She might do well when thrown into a bad situation, but she'd never really been one to decide what to do.

'Maybe _I'm_ not deciding...' Claire thought, thinking again of how easy she'd made it for Mikhail to control her actions. He was a crafty man, to be sure, and Claire knew enough to know when she was being used as a pawn. But a pawn for what? What game was Mikhail really playing?

"We have to be ready for anything, Leon," she said, her voice steady. "This could be some kind of trap."

"I've arranged for weapons already. All the details, Claire. I'm good at what I do," Leon said as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Instinctively, she leaned into the embrace, reveling in the warmth there. It seemed as if in that moment her world shifted into place. This was right. This is what she'd searched for all her life.

Leon seemed to sense something too, because his lips came down to rest on her cheek lightly.

"I still love you, Claire. Do you believe me?" Leon breathed in her ear, the air sliding past her face causing a chill to race up her spine. How she wanted to believe in what he was saying. Wanted to with every fiber of her being. She was afraid for a moment, as the memories assaulted her; how fiercely they had loved, how bitter she'd felt when he'd left...and then it didn't matter anymore. His fingers were tracing a path down from her neck, past her shoulder blade, against her ribs.

Turning in his arms, Claire twined her fingers through his shaggy hair, and stared up into his smoky gray eyes. His lips came slamming down on hers hungrily, and she felt the breath leave her lungs harshly at the sensation. Lightning bolts of electricity flowed between the pair, charging the air around them, and Leon growled low in his throat as he crushed Claire to him, his hands roving over her slight body as if he couldn't get enough of her, as if he were drinking in her very essence. Claire felt herself being lifted, and brought her legs up to hug his narrow hips.

His long legs brought them quickly into the bathroom, where he flicked the light on absently and closed the door solidly with his heel, never breaking lip contact. Claire's fingers curled over his muscled back, and her hips ground into his desperately; Leon didn't waste time as he tugged at the hem of her jeans, impatiently hauling them down just enough to expose her womanhood. It was tight, but when Leon finally slid into her, Claire groaned elatedly. For all the hell in the world, she'd suffer anything to feel this way.

Leaning her lightly against the door, Leon held her hips as he surged powerfully into her, leveling her with a half-lidded stare, his lips parted as he took each ragged breath. Waves of pleasure washed over Claire, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The two moved against each other at breakneck speed; seeking release. It was painfully quiet, the only sounds that of their torrid breathing and the faint rustle of clothing, and Claire felt faint as her vision began to blur.

Leon sensed her climax nearing, so he caught her lips in a crushing kiss, pulling her closer to him as he felt her shudder against him, groaned loudly in his throat as her sex pulled at his own. He couldn't help it as he felt himself being pulled down by an earth-shattering climax, burying himself to the very hilt inside of Claire; his body feeling weak and yet oddly whole at once.

He knelt down then, leaning heavily against the bathtub directly behind him; keeping himself inside of her. His big hands found either side of her face, and he kissed her softly. He didn't lie, Leon loved her. Had to have her. Wouldn't lose her again.

He'd left her two months ago. Walking away had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. But it was killing him, seeing Claire pine away after a dead man. How was he supposed to compete with that? It had become too hard, and when she'd called Wesker's name out in her sleep night after night...Leon was a strong man, but not a saint. _His_ name should be on her lips. Not someone else's. Six months was long enough to forget.

"I'm sorry," Claire whispered out, a sob breaking through. Leon felt his heart breaking all over again, and he pulled out of her warmth with a sigh. She still didn't love him. Still didn't want him. How long was he going to have to wait? Was it worth it?

Claire kissed him then, and all doubts washed away. A woman this good was worth any wait, no matter how long it would take. He was hers, regardless. Claire had only to call for him, and he'd drop everything just to come.

"I love you," Leon said as he kissed her forehead lightly, reverently. She smiled at him sleepily, and stood. They had their moments, and he'd cherish each and every one. This had been another stolen bit of time; something that he'd carry with him always. No need to overanalyse it, reduce it or cheapen it with unnecessary words and thoughts.

"I love you, too," Claire whispered out, and Leon felt heartened. At least she'd said it. Some truth had to thrive in those words, and as he met her even gaze, he felt hope for the first time since he'd left.

"We'll leave first thing in the morning," Leon said as he pulled himself to his feet, and adjusted his clothing. He hadn't wanted to get involved like this so soon, and certainly not a quickie in the bathroom; but he'd take it when he could get it. "I'll call and change our tickets over, it won't be a big problem."

"Good, because I'm absolutely exhausted," Claire yawned out, stretching languidly. His eyes followed the movement hungrily; she was his favorite drug. "Let's go crash out with Allie. I'm pretty sure we'll be safe till the morning."

"You go ahead and sleep, I'm on watch duty," Leon suggested instead. No way was he letting his guard down, not until he had some better answers than the ones his superiors were giving him. Claire began to protest, when Leon cut her off, saying, "I'll sleep on the plane. I've got these nifty little tranquilizer pills...flying makes me sick." With that, he opened the door for her, and followed her out into the bedroom. The alarm clock by the bed registered the time at 1:34 am. It was only a few hours till first light; he'd survive.


	4. Chapter 3:P, T, and A pt 1

Chapter Three: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; part 1

The flight to Michigan was a short one, much shorter than Claire would have liked. Every moment with Allie was precious, and she spent the four hour trip fussing over the infant, delighting when she got Allie to repeat her first word for Leon (who was quite impressed), cried bitterly when the child finally closed her eyes for a nap, and laughed frequently at the wonder cradled in her arms. Such a small thing, but such a powerful one.

The two adults sat huddled close together, the three of them looking for all the world just like the perfect family; blonde haired handsome young man, beautiful auburn haired wife, toe-headed baby...It was the worst moment in her entire life. Claire just wanted everything about them to be normal, but as she looked into Leon's worried gray eyes, she knew in her heart that her wish would go unheard. This would be their normal.

What had happened in the bathroom in the hotel, that was a mistake, Claire could see that now. Leon was acting like he had before they'd gotten out of Raccoon City; unsure, agitated, but trying to project that fierce bravado of confidence anyway. Something had shifted in that room, giving her power over him suddenly, and Claire wasn't sure she liked it.

He'd saved her ass too many times to count, been there through the thick of it right alongside her in battle, helped her when she didn't have anywhere to go; Leon was her constant. And now, Claire wondered if he wasn't trying to do it again. Be her savior.

Leon loved her, of that Claire was certain. The only question was, is it the right kind of love? Did he see her as some hopeless charity case, seek to be her knight in shining armor at all times? Claire didn't want that, she wanted her equal; a man who put as much faith in her as he did himself. Dear God, help her, she loved _him_ as her equal...

"Please buckle your seat belts; we are approaching our destination. Thank you for flying with United Airlines." A woman's voice came from the speakers overhead quietly. Claire looked at Leon as they hit a pocket of turbulence, and saw his jaw clench nervously and his fingers go white as he grabbed his seat's arm. She smiled reassuringly at him, and put her hand lightly over his. This was their first plane ride together, and although she'd heard him say he hated to fly, seeing it was another thing entirely.

His fingers slid into hers, and they held hands quietly as the plane came to a slow halt. Claire's stomach lurched sickly as Leon squeezed her hand; it was that feeling again, the one her brother had warned her about.

"Being in love, you feel it in your gut," Chris had told her. "It's like...eating that Chinese take-out from last week. Your stomach's all in knots, and you feel like you could just warf."

"Nice one, bro." Claire had returned, laughing. The memory was old, but the warning was valid. Every time Leon was around, and bam!, sick to her stomach queasy. If only she could be sure that he felt like that too.

Leon waited while Claire unbuckled, and then grabbed their carry-on. They headed off the plane, and Claire smiled as she spotted Becky, waiting patiently at the gate. Barry was with her, and Carlos as well. The two big men seemed to dwarf Rebecca, but she paid them no mind as she rushed up to hug Claire.

"It's been too long!" Becky said warmly, and Claire shifted Allie in her arms to hug back. Leon and Barry were whispering, and Claire started to ask what they were going on about when Carlos jabbed her in the shoulder lightly, cocking her one of his most dashing smiles.

"Hey, pretty lady. Mind if I hold Allie?" Carlos asked, and Claire reluctantly released her daughter to him. Allie immediately grabbed at both of his ears and began to chew thoughtfully at his goatee, before squealing happily as Carlos tickled her side playfully. Both Claire and Becky sighed happily at the sight, before falling in with the flow of foot traffic in the terminal. The men followed a bit behind them, allowing the two women to catch up for a moment, before Claire's voice turned serious.

"You guys have to keep moving. I mean, don't stay in one place too long. I trust you, Rebecca, but I couldn't lose Allie. And if these people found me, how easy is it going to be to track down one little baby? Promise me, Rebecca." Claire whispered, looking into her friend's hazel eyes.

"I promise. We weren't gonna hang out long anywhere. Carlos already suggested that we keep moving around; make the patterns erratic. He's good at keeping out of trouble, for the most part." Rebecca said reassuringly.

"So...you and Carlos, huh?" Claire teased, laughing lightly as she looked back to see him cuddling Allie close as Barry cooed at her from behind, with Leon on their heels. They looked like the three stooges, only on steroids and younger.

"Well, you gotta admit that he's persistent. He's been asking me since before you left, and I just finally caved last month. He's amazing, really. And not just at kissing..." Rebecca blushed, before continuing. "He's a wonderful cook."

"I'm sure..." Claire cocked an eyebrow wickedly at her friend, who blushed deeper at the unspoken innuendo. They went through a set of revolving doors, and stopped on the pavement outside. Carlos gave Allie back to Claire, who kissed her forehead before handing her tearfully to Becky.

"We'll take good care of her, Claire. I promise," Barry said, laying a massive hand on her shoulder. The man's frame was bigger than Chris', and once again Claire was awed by just how big he was. His nickname 'Bear' wasn't unearned.

"Call us, every night," Leon said, holding his cell phone aloft. "This thing gets reception anywhere, it's satellite, bulletproof, waterproof, and it holds over 1,000 itunes comfortably." The group laughed at his joke, but nodded all the same.

Claire buried her head in Leon's shoulder and sobbed after the car was out of site. They didn't attract much attention; what else was an airport if not a place to say goodbye? This scene was familiar and all too common here.

They hurried back into the airport, and waited for Gate 12 to announce, "Now Boarding".

Paris, France. The city of lovers. Claire avoided Leon's gaze. This was going to be a long plane ride...

Leon's stomach was doing cart wheels as the plane leveled out in the sky, before at long last the light above their heads blinked off, allowing him to unfasten his seat belt and move freely about the plane. Which he did, twice. Eleven hours of this...ducking towards the restroom, Leon closeted himself in there, breathing deeply as he tried to calm his frayed nerves. God, he hated flying.

A knock on the door brought him out of his meditations, and as he opened the door with an apologetic smile, he was pushed backwards roughly by Claire.

"Let me in here!" Her voice was near panic levels, and Leon quickly locked the door behind her. She elbowed him accidentally as the two shuffled around in the cramped space, and he let out a great whooshing breath.

"What's got you so worried? What's out there that you're hiding in here?" Leon asked her in hushed tones. The situation was rather amusing to him.

"My ex...Remember Brett?" she whispered, shivering. He remembered Brett alright; that asshole had a beating coming to him. Leon himself had gone in that time to remove her; Brett had slugged Claire in the face, which had in turn caused her to knock him cold on the linoleum of his kitchen. She'd called Leon, barely coherent around her sobs, and he'd gone to help her move her meager possessions out. If the bastard hadn't already been knocked cold...Leon wasn't sure he would have kept his temper in check.

"Where is he? I think I owe him something," Leon started to unlock the door, when Claire's hand stopped him.

"Don't go out there and start something! I...he's just a low life. I just didn't want to be stuck out there with him sitting next to us..." Leon ground his teeth together impatiently, his hand itching for the fight. "Stay in here, just for a little while longer. If he thinks we're together, then...well, let's just make him think we're together. I don't want him to even think about talking to me."

"So you want him to think that we're part of the MHC?" Leon quirked his brow suggestively, leaning his face closer to Claire's. She smelled like some kind of flower, sweet and warm and alive. There was a feeling taking hold of Leon, and he knew that if he didn't get out of this cramped space soon, she'd be feeling it too, right up against her stomach.

"Yeah, something like that," Claire looked up at him, her eyes flicking down to his lips before she could hide the gesture. A blush crept up her neck, a deep pink rush of blood that colored her entire face prettily, and before Leon could think about what he was doing, his lips were on hers, his hands buried in her hair. His heart hammered against his ribcage as she clung to him, straddling his leg.

The pair shifted to accommodate each other, a tangle of limbs and clothes as both sought the other's flesh. He almost growled aloud as he waited for her fingers to undo his zipper, her jeans already laying forgotten on the floor beneath his feet. Something was grinding into his shoulder painfully, but Leon gave it no thought as he picked Claire up and set her gingerly on the sink, one foot resting on the back of the toilet, the other one in his hand as he spread her legs wide apart.

His fingers teased her damp folds, and Claire bit down on his lip lightly; and then he was sliding into her, groaning at the feeling as her muscles spasmed around his cock; this was heaven and hell all wrapped into one. Leon pleasured her slowly, languidly; using his fingers to make her moan into his shoulder. She was all fire, all consuming as he delved deeper into her sweetness, tasting her sweat against her neck as he thumbed her nipple, now holding her aloft as he plunged into her at a rocking pace. Little whimpers escaped her throat, and Leon felt her cling to him as her climax shook her, and he kissed her hard as he felt himself go over the edge.

He rested his back against the wall, still hanging on to Claire like she was his anchor as the air around them cooled. When he could think again, Claire was staring at him. Her searching blue eyes found his, and he returned her gaze evenly.

"I love you, Claire," Leon said, his voice loud in the cramped space. She kissed his lips sweetly, before climbing down to her feet, reaching towards her clothing beneath their toes.

"I'll leave first," Claire said, her voice shaky. Leon smoothed her hair back, tucking a stray lock behind her ear, and she nuzzled her cheek against his palm.

"We'll go together. That way we'll share the stares," Leon's voice brooked no argument, and he waited patiently while she dressed, trying to stay out of her way. When she was ready, he unlocked the door, and led the way back to their seats. Quite a few people were staring at them, some curious, some accusing, some mildly amused; but when Leon flashed his gray eyes at them, they quickly looked away. He let Claire take the window seat, and spent the rest of the flight holding her hand.

Despite his fear of flying, with Claire next to him, it wasn't so bad. And the look on her ex's face was well worth it; he looked like he was about to explode. Just to see him squirm, Leon shifted in his seat enough to flash the man his badge and gun. Leon wasn't disappointed by Brett's reaction, the color left his thin face, and he avoided any look towards Claire. After a while, Leon slept, the past forty eight hours finally catching up to him.

Claire watched his sleeping face, slipping headphones over her ears as his little snores rang steadily into her ear. The in flight movie was '50 First Dates', and Claire was quickly enrapt in the story line. She still held onto Leon's hand, even though he was sleeping. Stealing a quick glance at him every so often, she felt her stomach lurch each time.

Yeah, she had it bad.

Claire also missed Allie, and when the movie credits started to roll by, she let out a longing sigh. Leon was still snoring away, as were a lot of the passengers around her. Closing her eyes, Claire wished she were at home now, checking in on Allie, and then returning to her warm bed...and in her wish, she wasn't shocked to see Leon there, too.

Snuggling close to Leon on the plane, Claire soon drifted off to sleep. Perhaps everything would be better when she opened her eyes in Paris.


	5. Chapter 4:A hope, A prayer, and a Dream

Chapter Four: A Hope, A Prayer, and A Dream

Mikhail had been a bit disappointed by their delay, but wasn't surprised. He didn't begrudge Claire her time with Allison, since the day that child had taken her first breath, Claire hadn't been out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time. He also knew about her involvement with the agent; and again, he didn't blame her for wanting to catch up. Old age had taught him patience.

The man standing before him, however, knew little of patience, and Mikhail sighed at the Corporal's anger.

"I was close, Mikhail. And then I get a call that we're just supposed to pack up and move in on Project Phoenix, only to find the house empty? Sir, if you don't mind me being frank, this is bullshit!" Corporal Jeremiah Cross was pissed, to say the least. Mikhail knew about his checkered past with the Redfields, but hadn't assigned the man to help him exact his revenge; he could give two shits about that, but merely for his expertise. As a search dog, you couldn't get anyone better.

"Leave the details to me, Jeremiah. I need the girl alive, and I'd prefer it if we could get her brother alive as well. He'll do little good to me dead, you fool," Mikhail chided, his voice level and emotionless. "You and your men will abort this mission, I want you debriefed, Corporal. This is a direct order, and I expect to be obeyed. Do you understand me? You are off this case, as of now."

The color in Jeremiah's face went from a slight red to a deep purple; the man looked almost comically angry for a moment, before he turned on his heel and slammed out of Mikhail's office.

Sighing, Mikhail looked out of the window at a sprawling cityscape, lights alive and dancing against the twilight sky. Paris was one of his favorite places. It had been one of Albert's favorites as well. He had much to think about, his wording would be crucial in the coming conversation with Claire. He didn't care about Tri-Cell anymore, and would gladly turn state's evidence if it came to it. Mikhail just didn't want to die, not yet.

His brother's donor organs would be sufficient for the moment, but immortality sounded so much better to Mikhail. For some reason, all of the clones he'd made couldn't hold a living strain of the G-Virus. It was as if the genetic anomaly that had made his brother into a God amongst man was more of some cosmic accident; all of his best scientists couldn't re-create the effects in the clones. Albert was human, horribly and utterly human.

Which was why he needed Claire so desperately. Mikhail was almost positive that Claire was as yet unaware of her infection; he just needed her blood. A simple thing, but trying to find the opportunity...Albert's filly was a spirited one, and like most woman of her ilk, the paranoia ran deep.

So he had staged the perfect deception. A few men, a few bullets, and a few short phone calls; it had almost been too easy. Hardly fair, if he was being quite honest with himself. But this was his _life_ hanging in the balance. Would Claire really fault him if she were to learn the truth?

The phone on his desk rang, and he picked it up absently.

"They've landed," A voice said mildly in Mikhail's ear. It was enough. He smiled at his reflection in the windowpane as he hung up the phone, despairing when he saw an old man staring back; white hair, thin, decrepit. Only his eyes spoke of his strength, the man he used to be.

Mikhail straightened his tie nervously, and rose from his chair. It was time to meet the lovely Claire Redfield.

Chris Redfield considered himself a perpetual fuck-up. First in the Air Force, then as one of Raccoon's finest, and his last failed career as a BSAA agent; in all instances, he'd nearly gotten himself killed on top of making himself a fugitive. Why would his social life be any less of a disaster area?

Jill lay sleeping peacefully in front of him, flat on her back and dead to the world in her current state. It was amazing, the places she could fall asleep. He knew he had hurt her immensely by seeing Sheva. But even though he loved Jill, it wasn't anything near what he felt for Sheva.

Sheva Alomar was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Jill, while he'd been crazy about her before her disappearance, could no longer evoke the same emotions in him. Not that he hadn't tried. Valentine had been his reason for breathing once. His best friend, lover, and consort in every way. They had been inseparable before he'd thought she'd died.

People either move on from those things, or they don't. Chris had tried to forget in those first few months after she'd been declared legally dead, and the whiskey had helped; until a numbness had settled into his bones, a cold feeling where his heart had once been. He'd thrown himself tirelessly into his work, honing his usual dogged determination into something more akin to a machine-like efficiency in every mission he'd taken. The first year without Jill Valentine had been pure, unadulterated, hell.

The BSAA had given him partners in missions, none of which he'd liked, and none of which had stayed his partner for any length of time. On one occasion, Chris had taken such an instant disliking to one such partner, and obstinately dug his heels in with his superiors and got kicked off the case in the process, as well as getting put on an instant thirty day suspension for his would-be partner's hospitalization...

He'd spent that thirty days in what can only be described as a drunken stupor, stumbling from home to the liquor store two, sometimes three times a day for another case of beer, or in his darker depressive states, for the whiskey that brought him the numbness before he'd finally pass out. Yes, he had morned Jill greatly. Until he'd gotten a ghost of a rumor that she might still be alive.

So he'd gone to Africa. Laid his eyes on Sheva. Disliked her, shunned her, railed out at her when she made her hero-worship obvious...and like no other partner he'd been forced to work with, she'd smiled, bore it, stuck with him, and constantly stunned him with her quick wit and sharp tongue. Slowly, Chris had grown accustomed to her presence, begrudgingly began to accept her, grown to trust her; and all in the space of two days. Sheva had been like a light in the darkness for him, the one who had dragged him out of his own personal hell. She was the one who helped him get Jill back.

As Chris studied Jill's profile in the scant moonlight that the window provided, he brooded. Jill was, and he hoped would always be, his best friend. When they'd gotten back to the states with Claire, Chris was once again hers. But Jill was no longer his.

The woman had changed, and not just her hair. Something was deeply wrong with her. The tests she took had all come back clean, and once the P30 had worked it's way out of her system, she was physically as fit as the proverbial fiddle. Her mental state, however, had been rocky, to say the least.

Chris had stuck by her, loving her, doting on her; even as his world had once again fallen down the shit-hole. After they'd given over the evidence against Tri-Cell to the prosecutors, built their case, suddenly no one believed them. He'd been fired from his job with the BSAA, and eventually the twisted fuck lawyers brought up their own charges against Jill, against Sheva, against himself...It was as if none of the evidence on that disk had ever mattered, or didn't exist.

They'd all spent the last six months hiding, running, scared and wanted by every major police agency in the world. Tri-Cell was bigger than Umbrella, and apparently had enough money to falsify records and erase any and all involvement to these 'alleged' crimes, no doubt greasing elbows along the way. Jill and himself had been spending the last month trying to clear their names without getting caught. They'd been here, in New York City, for less than twelve hours, and already Tri-Cell's lap dogs were on their tail. It wouldn't be long before they ended up dead or locked up for life, which was just about as appetizing as a bullet to the temple would be, in Chris' opinion.

What was bothering him, though, was Jill's sudden interest in him. She'd been only half there when he was with her; oftentimes slipping into fugue states, periods in which she seemed fully functioning and aware, but which later she could recall none of. A few times she'd admitted to Chris that when they had sex, sometimes she couldn't remember parts of it, and once she'd even seemed to block it out entirely (which did little good for his own ego...), unable to tell him a single thing about their time together.

And there had been Sheva, his friend, his confidant' in all of this madness. His own personal leaning post when shit got too much for him. Sheva was always there to lick his wounds, and she'd been Jill's defender often, explaining her distance away; in essence, renewing his hope that the woman he had loved so long ago still resided within the shadow that lingered by his side. She'd never pushed him for a relationship outside of one that was strictly a friendship. In fact, she'd rejected him the first time he'd asked her out to dinner as more than friends.

Jill had turned into a jealous maniac, if he were being frank, and Chris was terrified that he was going to lose her again, this time way more permanently than her death had. He still loved her, but he just couldn't take her coldness anymore.

Sheva had become his sun, whereas Jill was his moon. Both had a magnetism he couldn't deny, but where one had left him alone and oftentimes blinded by total darkness, the other had shone through to give him a new light and a new perspective on life.

Jill sighed in her sleep, and his name fell from her lips quietly, startling him from his musings. His heart ached for her; and he prayed to god that whatever dark recesses of hell Albert Wesker was in were just a bit darker, a bit more hellish than it surely was a second before.

He saw a woman's face, peaceful, serene, beautiful. Silky sable hair, great big blue-gray eyes, full pink lips, a gentle smile gracing them sweetly. He had known her once, but what her name was eluded him. The man awoke again, fluttering his eyelids heavily, trying to clear his murky vision in the milky water surrounding his whole body. He'd been dreaming of the nameless woman again.

A sudden panic struck him as he tried to move his limbs and he couldn't, and the scream that he felt welling inside himself would never be voiced, experience from the last time had he'd awoken had taught him that. He didn't know her name, but he was sure that she'd been important to him somehow. If only he could remember...

Why was he here? Where was he? More importantly, who was he? He knew he was a human or humanoid creature. He knew he was male. But why couldn't he remember his name?

The man in the tank...was he a freak, mutated in some way? Sometimes doctors, men and woman in lab coats with charts, came to look at him, read the little instrument panel that he wanted desperately to look at. Sometimes their lips moved, and he tried to read them, only to realize that it was a language foreign to him, something new. Perhaps he didn't know any language...

And then something strange happened to him. His chest started to ache, and he gulped harshly against the tube lodged in his throat. He was choking, and then suddenly something from the tube expelled inside of his chest, some substance that made him float upwards in this man-made womb. He pushed it out again, only to draw hungrily at it again when the ache slowly came back, the choking sensation creeping up his neck.

He was breathing, he realized. But hadn't he been doing that before? The man was confused, the contradictions and impossibilities racing though his brain as he tried to make some sense of it. As far as he could remember, he hadn't taken a breath before. In his dreams he was breathing, but never in here.

One of the omnipresent doctors, a petite blonde woman with a pony tail and small glasses, came to stare a moment at his panel, and the man once again wished he could move, speak, so he could demand some answers from the woman. He bobbed in his water-prison, staring at her pointedly, and once again willed his hand to come up.

The finger twitched. It was an improvement over the last time, and he would have smiled if he could have. The woman didn't notice, she just pressed a few buttons on the brightly lit panel, and the man felt that heavy sleepiness feeling for the fourth time today. He fought it, realizing for the first time that they were drugging him. Every time he came to, he stayed awake a little longer, recognized more things about his state. It was encouraging, and yet so frustrating. His ire rose, anger blocking out rational thought as the drugs began working in his system.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon he'd get out of this tank. And then he'd have his answers.

For now, he'd have to settle for the nameless beauty that haunted his sleep.


	6. Chapter 5: P,T, and A pt 2

Chapter Five: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, part 2

Leon sat up abruptly, startled from his sleep when the plane lurched sickeningly beneath him. His heart jumped into his throat, and then just as quickly slipped to the pit of his stomach. Fighting the urge to vomit, Leon white-knuckled the arm of the chair as the pilot's voice came over the speakers.

"We are experiencing some turbulence due to weather conditions," Leon's eyes squeezed shut in utter relief, his stomach still twisting as they hit another rocky bit of atmosphere. Looking out of the window over Claire, he was distressed to find that it was snowing outside, big fat clusters of white zoomed across the darkened glass.

Quickly his eyes found Claire's, and he smiled wanly at her. Her hand found his, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes drifted out over the landscape below; she was braver than him on a plane, seemingly unconcerned about crashing, burning, dying. He wondered if Raccoon had been that way for her, if she'd always rolled with the punches so easily, or if that had been a learned reaction. He hoped she'd been born with it; he sure as hell didn't have it.

"Look, I think we're over Paris!" Claire whispered excitedly.

"No thanks. I'll take your word for it," Leon answered, laughter in his voice. He didn't feel so bad right now; Claire's enthusiasm was almost contagious, and yet Leon had his reservations about the mysterious Mikhail. He'd done some extra-curricular research on the man, only to turn up a clean record; the guy hadn't been caught for sneezing, or so it seemed. Leon was aware of the fact that people with money often could get away with murder...literally. O.J. Simpson had done it, why couldn't Mikhail? And the fact that he not only worked at Tri-Cell, but was a CEO and a major stock holder; it was a good indicator of who and what they were dealing with.

Maybe the guy hadn't actually killed anyone, but sanctioning human testing and the mass production of B.O.W.'s and bio-weapons was equally evil, if not hideously more so. As far as Leon was concerned, the man had more blood on his hands than Hitler and Stalin combined.

"When we get on the ground, no matter what, you stay beside me, okay?" Leon instructed. He met Claire's eyes as his words sunk in, and she nodded solemnly. "You never know with these people what to expect."

"I'm glad it was you who came with me," Claire said. "Do you know what's supposed to be waiting for us?"

"A driver with a sign. There's always a driver with a sign. After that, I'm supposed to check in with headquarters and let them know I've landed and that we're en route; besides that, I haven't a clue." Leon answered.

"Great. So we get to play it by ear, huh?" Claire stated rather than asked.

"Yep." Leon gripped the seat hard as he felt the plane angle downward. The announcer told them first in French, and then in English that they should all buckle their safety belts as they would be landing in Paris soon. Leon couldn't wait for the flight to be over, as much as he dreaded the landing part.

"We'll take a boat home when this is all over," Claire joked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He returned her grin with a half-hearted smirk.

"I'll hold you to it," he gritted between his clenched teeth.

Claire followed Leon out of the gate, and heard him let out a sigh. He was still pale from the landing; the pilot had had some difficulties coming in, the plane's uneven skidding on the pavement had even made her stomach jump. She really didn't understand it, how scared he was of flying. He'd stood up to monsters, real live drooling stinking monsters, without so much as a flinch. Something as mundane as a ride in the sky, though, came just shy of making his knees knock.

They stood for a moment as Leon searched the crowd, and she saw the ghost of a smirk play across his lips as his eyes locked onto the figure across the room. Claire squinted, but still couldn't read the sign properly, her vision at a distance sucked. As they approached the man, however, she had to suppress a laugh at what the sign said.

It read as follows: "Mr. & Mrs. Kennedy". Secretly, Claire wished the sign's boast held some truth to it, but she quickly stuffed that little emotional bundle away. She had to focus. The weight of her sidearm was reassuring beneath her coat, but she slyly unclasped the guard that held it securely in place; thereby saving herself the time if she needed to draw on someone...or something, she reminded herself absently. Best to be a good girl scout and be prepared, then to get caught with your pants down with the scout leader...

"He's BSAA, but stay sharp," Leon instructed as they drew close, and Claire nodded solemnly. Then, greeting the agent, he said, "Hey, Chuck. Long time, buddy. They got you on babysitting duty these days?"

The man who held the sign didn't really look like a limousine driver, although his garb suggested the profession. He was short and balding with a pot belly and a non-existent neck, the brunette man before them didn't seem like he should be any kind of agent, but maybe that was his job. To blend with the crowd; he could certainly do that, Claire mused. The short fat guy smiled, and just as Claire had suspected, a few of his teeth showed the early signs of rot.

"When don't they?" Chuck replied, extending his hand out to Leon, who grabbed it firmly in a friendly handshake. He sounded like a New York ghetto rat, and Claire felt her nerves ease a little. Leon didn't seem to dislike him, at any rate. "So, this your girl?"

Chuck looked at Claire with an easy smile, his brown eyes quickly assessing her from head to toe. He had laugh lines etched on his face, and once again Claire felt a little easier. She could see herself maybe even liking Chuck, he somehow reminded her of her father. That thought made her sad. Sometimes she missed her parents so much.

"Not anymore," Leon smiled at Chuck, a sad smile. "Not that it stops me from knocking her socks off from time to time." Claire punched Leon's shoulder hard, at which he and Chuck laughed loudly. Claire could feel her face flaming beneath her skin, and she frowned hard at the pair.

"He don't mean no harm, lady. It's just a running joke we've had going since we worked together a few years back, ain't that right, Piglet?"

"Yep, that's right, Pooh," Leon winked at Claire easily, and she felt her anger and embarrassment slipping away. "So what's the word?"

"Well, figuring you're here, I thought I'd at least stop in to say hi, and whatnot. But the word on the street? The usual cloak and dagger swagger, my man. The big wigs, they're keeping a real tight lid on this one, REAL tight, if you get my meaning." Chuck rattled off, and Claire felt her brows come up in obvious confusion.

"Well, if you don't know the word, then can you at least lay a brother out some game?" Leon returned, falling into this confusing slang speech.

"They're working on something, obviously. But them stupid fucks, 'sides getting you to the tower, ain't lettin' me in on any of it. I tried digging, too, man. But like I said; real tight," Chuck explained. He started walking, not looking back as he continued, "Best I can figure, those idiots at Tri-Cell gotta be pulling some strings, makin' the wigs nervous as hell. I think after this one, I'm out. I don't know who's on the game, and who's just playing anymore. And I'm getting too fucking old for this bullshit anyway. Gonna retire to the Bahamas."

"Sounds nice," Leon said, and then added at Chuck's bewildered look backwards, "The Bahamas, I mean, not the shit."

"Am I supposed to know what any of this means?" Claire asked as they shouldered out into the frigid night air. Leon looked at her, smiling.

"Little lady, I thinks you be needing some educatin', if you're asking that," Then, turning to Leon, he said, "And you promised me she was smart."

Claire smacked Chuck on the shoulder this time, and gave him a sour look, before ducking into the backseat of the limo. Chuck chuckled as he shut the door behind them, and climbed in the front.

"So, what the hell did all of that mean?" Claire demanded in a whisper, glaring at Chuck. She wasn't really mad at him, just flabbergasted that someone like him could talk in circles around her.

"Basically, Chuck here thinks that someone from the financial end of things is watching this case. Maybe even setting up false leads and paying off some of the higher ups. He's worried that they got corruption on the force, and he's tired of getting no answers to his question, so he's retiring soon. How didn't you get that?" He angled a cockeyed grin in her direction.

"This is a case already? That was quick," Claire said.

"It's _been_ a case. Something's been going on here, some real heavy shit from what I've been hearing, and the BSAA's been in collaboration with the U.S. Government on it for about five months now. I didn't get involved directly until now, but I've always got my ear to the ground for you and the others," Leon was quiet, as if trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm not supposed to divulge any of this to you, so this is strictly off the record, but you should know. There's been a rumor going around that a company here in Paris is conducting experiments on human cloning."

"How does that involve the BSAA? I mean, they're supposed to help out with bio-terrorism," Claire asked in a conspiratorial tone.

"I thought the same thing, until I got a look at the case file. Seems that there might be some validity to it..." Leon quit talking for a minute, and Claire sensed that he really was debating on telling her the whole truth.

"What is it? What are you hiding from me?" Claire demanded. She was getting agitated, whatever it was, it seemed to be touchy for Leon to talk about.

"A sample of the G-Virus was taken from a pharmaceutical company's vaults around the same time as the reports started coming in. They've linked it to this case. Our inside contact seems to think they're trying to create some sort of super-human."

Claire was suspicious, eying him with doubt. Leon still seemed to be undecided about something, so she pressed, "And?"

"Like Albert Wesker. Maybe even from his DNA," Leon finished, looking at her attentively to see how she took the news.

Claire didn't take it well. She didn't take it well at all.

When the doors opened to admit Leon and Claire, Mikhail stood, smiling widely at them. Claire outpaced Leon's wide steps, her eyes scanning the crowded dining room, and when she spotted him, she made a bee-line to him. People turned curious glances at them from their tables, probably wondering at their attire. Mikhail didn't care what the pair was wearing, however fancy this restaurant may be. He greeted her warmly, "Ms. Redfield, you are even more lovely than my brother described you! Please," He said, pulling a chair out for her. "Have a seat. I've already ordered, our food should arrive shortly."

Her smile was strained, but she said in a melodious voice, "Thank you, Mikhail." Leon hovered for a second, before Mikhail gestured towards the third chair across from himself. Once they were all seated, Mikhail snapped his fingers lightly, and a waiter began to pour wine into the elegant fluted glasses neatly arranged on the table.

"I've waited so long to meet you, Claire. It is an honor. Truthfully, my brother's descriptions were inadequate; you are absolutely stunning. And Mr. Kennedy, I'm glad that you could join us. Your reputation proceeds you." Mikhail sipped from his glass, and settled it once again on the glass table top. He studied the pair before him for a moment, noting how nervous Claire seemed, how cautious the agent appeared. Seeking to put them at ease, he asked, "How was your flight?"

"Manageable," The agent said, and Claire's shoulders seemed to unstiffen a bit, a smile playing across her lips at the single word.

"Leon doesn't like to fly," Claire explained, amusement shining in her bright blue eyes. "You look a lot like him; Albert, I mean. Thinner, older, but you have his eyes." She seemed sad for a moment, lost in thought.

"Yes, when I was younger, we were often asked if we were twins. Unfortunately, the cancer has taken a lot out of me." Mikhail smiled, and watched as Claire carefully sniffed her wine, and finding it sufficient, she took a small drink. Leon had so far only taken water; which was alright with Mikhail. He knew from the agent's file that he was by the book.

Another waiter arrived pushing a small cart, and dutifully laid their salads out for each of them. Fresh romaine lettuce and baby spinach tossed with shredded carrots, onions, and chopped bits of egg and ham, as American as apple pie. Claire selected a simple garlic vinaigrette, Leon a hearty Caesar, and for himself he picked the house's recommendation, which turned out to be a delightful Catalina.

"Why are there so many forks?" Claire asked, looking puzzled. Leon grinned easily, and pointed to the one closest to his plate.

"If you haven't noticed, we're in a very ritzy place. Just work your way out with the silverware." Leon whispered, although loud enough to include Mikhail in the conversation while still sparing Claire the waiter's disapproval.

As if for the first time registering her surroundings, Claire blushed, and Mikhail finally understood his brother's obsession with the woman.

"Please, feel free to ask any questions you wish. I will be as an open book, withholding nothing," Mikhail encouraged, before taking another bite of his salad. It was simply divine, Mikhail thought absently.

"How do we clear our names? I'm tired of running, Mikhail. I'm tired of hiding, and tired of wondering when someone's going to find me, or my brother, or my friends. I just want to raise Allie, have a normal life. Isn't there some way to get this mess straightened out?" Claire asked, before she too bit into her salad, using the fork that Leon had recommended. Her eyes pleaded with his.

"Yes. I can't promise you that it will be easy, but yes, there is a way. I can have all of it dropped, all of it forgotten, and I can give you and your agent friend here enough information to bring Tri-Cell down for good. There are so many people who deserve to be brought to justice, so much corruption in the company that my father helped to build."

"What's the catch? I know you didn't bring us all this way just to tell us that you can make all of these charges disappear," Leon said, his steel gray eyes searching Mikhail's for an answer.

"Perceptive, my friend. I do require something in return. A simple favor, actually. I just need a small sample of your blood, Claire." Mikhail said, turning his gaze from Leon's to Claire's. Her pretty face registered confusion, and then suspicion.

"Are you going to clone me, too?" Claire asked, a bitterness seeping into her tone. The question and it's implications stunned Mikhail momentarily, and it was a moment before he was able to compose himself again. How much did the girl really know? How? He quickly decided that it didn't matter.

"No, Claire. You're infected. Somehow, your DNA melded with the Progenitor virus, and subsequently with the G-Virus as well. The clone is a hollow shell; used to produce the organs that I need to extend my miserable life." Mikhail's tone was less friendly now, more businesslike.

"Infected..." Claire processed the information, looking aghast as it sank in. She slowly brought her fork up to her lips, taking another bite of her salad.

"Yes. Albert told me, and made me promise to take care of you and his child should anything happen to him. He anticipated your brother's involvement, welcomed it. It was his backup plan, his failsafe. It's how Jill knew where you were kept, it's why he himself planted the rumors about Jill still being alive. He knew that your brother would come running. He ensured his failure, and his death, to save you." Mikhail said. He wasn't angry, or bitter. His brother always had done whatever he had wanted.

"But I don't understand why you need my blood. If you have...Albert, then why do you need the viruses? He was infected, needed injections," Claire asked, her eyes never leaving her plate.

"He needed injections? Perhaps that's the problem..." Mikhail mused aloud.

"I think I've figured it out. Do you mind if I theorize?" Leon asked evenly. Mikhail nodded, and waited patiently as the young man before him took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Albert's blood wasn't a perfect match for the viruses in his system, he had to control it with a serum, a concoction he himself produced. But Claire hasn't had to do that, her DNA must have changed the viruses, mutated it to her own needs. And you want not only an extension on life, but something closer to immortality. Am I touching your meaning at all, or am I still stuck on first base with this?" Leon asked smugly. Mikhail admired his quickness.

"True. I cannot deny that you've hit the nail on the head. Please, though, let me explain. I don't want immortality, per say; but I, like most who share my...condition, my age; I fear death. Above all, I fear death. Claire will not age for a long time, perhaps she will last until the end of the earth. I can't know that. I don't want to be the person who signs away other's lives, not anymore. And...I fear what will happen to me when I die. Unlike my brother, I believe in God. I believe in absolution. But without the time, without the chance to redeem myself, I fear for my immortal soul." Mikhail had bared his soul to these two, the only people whom he had ever shared this with. His hopes, his wishes, were now in their hands.

Claire seemed to contemplate this information. Ate more salad. Never looked up from her plate.

"Why would you want to be infected? I'm tainted. I'm...I'm a monster." Claire was crying, tears traveling silently down her perfect face, her lip quivering as she shoved in another bite of salad. Leon noticed her tears too, because he leaned forward and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Claire, hun, you're not a monster," He reassured her, but Claire just shrugged off his hand. The tears glimmered in the candlelight. Mikhail felt horrible. He'd caused this. Uncaringly, he'd told her that she was 'infected'. He wished he could have worded it better.

"You are not a monster, Ms. Redfield," Mikhail said, and at his voice she finally met his gaze. "I've seen monsters. I've touched them, been in their presence. You are not of that ilk. You are by far the most innocent person that I have ever met."

"I'll give you my blood, Mikhail. But I want to see Albert." Claire wiped at her eyes, and gave him a weak smile.

"Of course. Anything you want, Claire. When we're done, I'll show you my brother's clone, begin to exonerate you and your friends. Soon, my dear, you'll have your normal life." Mikhail was so happy. He glanced at Leon, and was disturbed to see the stricken look on the man's face. It was as if someone had slapped him, or more accurately, as if Claire had. He realized a moment too late that Leon must have feeling for this lovely young lady before him, and that Claire must have had great feelings for Albert; making this meeting between Claire and Albert's clone the equivalent of Leon's worst nightmare.


	7. Chapter 6: The Reaper Cometh

Chapter Six: The Reaper Cometh

The door before him beeped softly as he slid the dead scientist's id card through the reader, and he let the blood soaked object drop to the floor. This would be the last door he needed. He'd lost all but two of his team, a hand-picked assembly of his best men.

As the air locked chamber door slid out of his way, Corporal Cross stepped through the entranceway into a room filled with gadgets and tanks. It was like something out of a Frankenstein movie, only if that film had been a bit more modern. Two well placed shots eliminated a little blonde woman who wore glasses, and he stepped over her twitching corpse towards the object of his revenge.

As Jeremiah stepped into the eerily lit chamber, he felt the anger rise up again at his boss. Fuck Mikhail! Off the case...pfft! The Corporal knew he was out of line, going against orders, but the Redfields had to pay, damn it! If he didn't rid the world of them, he wouldn't ever have peace. His orders had been clear, and then for Mikhail to just dismiss him after all the hard work, a lifetime of dedication towards the erradication of a bloodline; it had been too much for him. So if he couldn't have his revenge, he'd make sure that Mikhail couldn't have his spare parts.

Maybe he _had_ gone off the deep end...

The fluid in the tanks around him were a chalky white color, and as he shot the first one on his left, the glass exploded everywhere. A badly mutated form dripped there, humanoid in form, but only vaguely so; it hung motionlessly from the tubes and wires that were still attached to it. Jeremiah smiled as he put another bullet in it's head, and moved to the next tank...

The man woke to the sound of shattering glass, and he tried to peer through the fluid surrounding him. Dark shapes, three of them, moved steadily towards him, fanning out in standard tactical form. He watched, transfixed, as they shot at the other tanks in the room; and he knew it in his bones that he had to escape, or else he'd end up just like whatever the hell was in those other tanks.

He willed his hands to move. His fingers wiggled, and taking heart, having no time to mourn the hopelessness of the situation, he tried again. His leg kicked suddenly, and then he tried harder, focusing around the haze that threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. Thrashing now, he tore at the tubing and wiring that were connected to him, and then he couldn't breathe anymore, but he was free, he was swimming in the liquid, fighting for the surface that wasn't there.

It was then that he heard the report of something striking the glass, and with another shot, the water around him sucked him down, sucked him out onto the cold metal floor. Coughing, sputtering, the man took just a second to look at his attackers, for surely that's what these men were doing, they had been sent here to kill him; and then he was pulling himself to his feet. His legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath him, and then he heard one of the men shouting. Before he could think, he was moving, he was running towards the big man with the scar on his face, pushing past him, ducking behind one of the shattered tanks, glass cutting his feet painfully. The pain didn't matter as he heard loud shots ringing out behind him, louder than when he'd been in the water, and his heart was pumping fast; jackhammering against his ribcage in a frightening rhythm.

Glancing around him, the man saw an opening, a doorway, wide and welcoming...all the way at the opposite end of the room. His feet were gushing blood, and he was scared, but as bullets whizzed past his hiding spot, he didn't have time to think about it. A lot of the shots were going wide, and he almost laughed aloud when one lucky ricochet winged the furthest of his attackers, and the man took the opportunity of the distraction the hurt soldier had caused to run as fast as he could towards the open door.

"Corporal," the injured man called, laying on the floor, blood pooling around him. The man ran as fast as he could go, but he felt his feet slide out from underneath him, and he cried out as he went careening forward, and tucking his knees in, he tumbled ungracefully into the wall just a foot or two shy of the door. Bullets zinged past him, some close enough to disturb the air around his body. Scrambling on his hands and knees, his limbs flying wildly as the water beneath him splashed upwards into his face, he tried for the door again. Sputtering, he looked up, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a silenced service pistol.

Not taking time to think, the man wrapped his fingers around the gun, and pushing with punishing force, he twisted the scar-faced man's hand back, heard the wrist snap, and then he was climbing to his feet as scarface howled. Without hesitation, the man took possession of the gun, and put a bullet into his opponent's brain, and then he aimed again, and shot the other soldier who had been bearing down on him, cutting him down like a crazed beast.

The man felt sick to his stomach. So much blood...He'd killed two men. So easily.. Shame, remorse, and despondancy decended upon him, and he curled up in a fetal position and cried.

Leon pulled his pistol out of it's holster as soon as they'd come across the first dead security guard in the laboratory, the dead man's eyes staring through a milky lens towards the ceiling, the blue of his uniform stained with the copious amounts of blood that had escaped from his stomach wound. As Claire had examined the body, Leon stepped over it carefully, and continued down the hallway where Mikhail had pointed. The old man was talking rapidly in French on his cell phone, calling for back up. More bodies, scientists, guards, people in suits...it seemed that no one had been spared. Gun at the ready, Leon followed the trail of bodies, and then he came upon a soldier, dressed in black and armed to the teeth...and deader than a door nail, his mouth hanging open, a large portion of his brain matter spattered behind him, lines of dark blood trailing down to make a shallow pool in which the corpse wallowed.

Bullet holes lined the wall behind him, and little shards of what may have once been objects de' art littered the ground, the remains of a stand splintered and cracked beneath his feet. The air was thick with the smell of innards, and Leon's stomach lurched in his stomach; in a different time and place, the air had smelled like this...but that was so long ago now. Still, in this claustrophobic atmosphere, even with the harsh artificial floresents baring all the gory details to his eyes, Leon felt that old familiar edge creeping back into his senses, making the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. Having seen more than his fill of corpses, both here and in Raccoon, he turned around.

"Clear!" Leon called as he jogged back to where he'd left Mikhail and Claire. "Nothing but dead bodies. Looks like some kind of gun fight went on here, let's hope there wasn't some kind of outbreak."

"I've called the incident in, but I think we should press on," Mikhail said, his gaunt face pulled and pale. "It will be at least an hour."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea..." Claire said, exchanging a worried glance with Leon.

"We have to...I need to know if they've killed him," Mikhail seemed frail, but determined, as he strode down the corridor where Leon had just come from. Shrugging in Claire's direction, Leon fell in behind the old man; there would be no sense in letting him die. Claire pulled her own pistol, and followed closely behind the two men, her face an angry mask.

"I've got this feeling that this is gonna be a very bad idea..." Claire worried in a whisper, and Leon nodded his agreement.

Shouting echoed through the corridors, pulling the man out of his morbid musings. He stood, his legs quaking, knees knocking painfully together as he slowly made his way into the brightly lit hallway. His feet were bleeding, every step was painful and left a glistening red footprint in it's wake. Didn't matter, he was going towards the voices, not trying to hide. His fingers tightened around the butt of the gun in his hand; he realized now that no answers could come from these people, probably no good would come from them or their twisted logic. The things that he had glimpsed in those shattered tanks, hanging limp and dead left him without a doubt that he was some kind of monsterous being; and the people whom had fostered him in that tank had also designed these horrible creatures that defied all imagination.

He had to escape, get away from all this madness...to where he didn't have a clue. He only knew that he didn't want to die, whatever he proved to be. He felt weak, and so he continued towards the sounds that drifted to him.

The man didn't feel evil, he hadn't wanted to kill those people. Wouldn't have hurt a hair on their heads if they'd just left him alone. It had been self-defense. Right?

Somehow, the man doubted himself. So many images flashed in his mind, how easily he'd broken Scarface's wrist, the ease with which he'd pulled the trigger...What was he?

Turning a corner, the man saw an old man round the other corner. The old man stopped, gasping as fear flickered across his thin features. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the man's gaze was drawn to a taller, younger man as he stepped out into view behind the old one. The young man had a gun, but he didn't raise it. The young man looked at the man, and then at the old man, a look of saddness crossing his masculine features.

And then the man himself gasped as the woman from his dreams stepped out behind the young man. Same hair, same lips, same eyes, same body. The man dropped the gun, smiling at the angel-faced dream before him, and then he was falling forward; darkness enveloping his world again.

Mikhail stopped as soon as he turned the corner, a look of terror etched on his face as his eyes locked onto something down the hall. Claire watched as Leon stepped out to flank the unarmed Brit, and then became confused when Leon's face fell in despair. So whatever this was, even her hero was disheartened by the mere look of it...Stepping out to meet the unknown monster that would surely claim all of their lives, Claire suddenly froze as her eyes locked onto the nude man who stood at the other end of this hall.

Her world shook violently, the room seeming to tilt. Reality had just shifted for her, and she wondered absently at her sanity. Her eyes blinked at the blood soaked figure before her, and then he smiled at her, dropping the gun that she hadn't even seen in his hand. Blood rushed behind her ears, drowning out all sound, and then Albert Wesker took a step towards them, surely, towards her, he fell forward, dropping into an unconcious heap. Before she knew that she had decided to move, she was running, tears blurring her vision. Skidding to a halt, dropping to her knees, Claire pulled his still body up, cradling his head in her lap, sobbing and pulling at his chest, trying to crush his form close to hers; she was losing him _twice!_

She didn't know how long she had sat there holding him, but as she calmed down, she became aware of a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she met Leon's gaze. His eyes were hurt, the gray in his eyes dulled with a pain, and Claire felt as if she'd lost him, too. Mikhail knelt beside her, and put his fingertips against Wesker's neck.

"He still has a pulse," Mikhail whispered in awe. "We have to get him out of here! I called a sweeper team in, I thought for sure the place would require sterilization! They'll kill him!" Leon nodded, and pulled Claire to her feet gently, passing her into Mikhail's care. He picked up Wesker's form and carried him back from where they'd come. Mikhail had to guide her along, she was still so shell shocked...


	8. Chapter 7: Angel, Knight, Ghost

Chapter Seven: The Angel, The Knight, and The Ghost

Sheva Alomar drove slowly, winding her way through the streets of New York City; very few cars traversed the roads at this hour, but it was still a challenge, because the ones who were driving were maniacs. A guy had cut her off three blocks back, swerving erratically in his lane; obviously drunk or high, and he'd almost run her into oncoming traffic.

Sighing, she flicked her turn signal on, and turned into the parking garage. The sound of her engine reverbrated loudly through the abandoned space, sending a chill down her spine. She glanced at the clock on the dash, and saw the time at 3:27am. Chris and Jill should have been here by now.

Frowning, Sheva cut the engine's power, and sat quietly. It wasn't long until she heard footsteps echoing hollowly through the dark parking lot, and her heart sped up a notch or two. She always got a weird feeling in her gut everytime she even thought about Chris. Almost like she'd suddenly swallowed a mini-boulder, and the rock was tumbling in her stomach like clothes in a dryer. He was just a really great guy.

It was Jill, however, not the object of her thoughts, that came into view first, looking like a half-drowned rat. The woman was still gorgeous; Sheva adored Jill; it almost bordered on hero worship. Once again, Sheva felt that pang of guilt rise up in her gullet. Chris and Jill had been a wonderful pair, and she lamented that Jill was so distant towards Chris. Even though Sheva had feelings for Chris, she couldn't help but feel like an interloper.

'What a messed up situation...' Sheva thought, opening the door of the Ford Taurus. Stepping out, Sheva was then face to face with Jill. A bit startled by the woman's speed, but not put off by her presense, she smiled at the wet woman warmly.

"Hey, Jilly-bean!" Sheva whispered, and was rewarded with a cockeyed grin from Jill.

"What's up, Sheva?" Jill whispered back tiredly, stifling a yawn. Chris was lagging some ten feet back, looking nervously at the two females. Sheva flashed him a winning smile as she opened the back door for Jill, who gladly ducked into the car with a quick thanks. Sheva knew that it was killing Chris, trying to make both her and Jill happy, not to mention the fact that they'd all been on the run for a little over six months; wanted by every police agency the world over. It was a lot of stress for one guy to tackle.

So despite Jill's cold demeanor, icy comments, and fridgid stares, Sheva had tried to be as pleasant with her as humanly possible; which was no easy task. At times, Jill would be outright hostile towards her, and while she wanted sometimes to retaliate, Sheva dared not. Besides, the African woman hated drama, and instigating Jill would only bring more grief than closure. Anyway, Jill had started to come around to her, some days doing more than tolerating her and actually attempting conversation, albeit it obviously forced and stiff.

Sheva could relate, somewhat to Jill's suffering; what little she remembered from being under Wesker's control wasn't an easy story to listen to, but Sheva had heard the horror stories. The brutal rapes, both by the Majini and Wesker himself, how many times she'd been beaten, the broken limbs, the experiments, it was like something from a science fiction novel, only worse somehow, mainly because Sheva knew that Jill's stories actually happened. The woman had been through a lot, and it was going to take more time than a year to heal. Chris had pushed her too fast, and it wasn't quite fair in Sheva's opinion. And having suffered brutal rapes herself, Sheva felt her heart go out to Jill; Sheva's teenage years were something she wished she could forget, but still, she felt that her and Jill shared something, a sort of understanding to one another's pain.

"Hey, hot mama, what's shakin'?" Chris whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around Sheva's slight shoulders. Even soaked and dripping, hair disheveled and with what looked like a blood stain splattered across his shirt, Chris Redfield was a hunk. Her heart went into overdrive as she hugged him back briefly, ever concious of Jill's eyes boring holes in the back of her head.

"Nothing much, sugar daddy; Just thought I'd give you and her a lift, seeing as how I was in the area..." Sheva said lightly, pulling out of his warm embrace. Her face was suddenly all business. "I've got some bad news, Chris. It seems your sister's in some kind of trouble. I got a call from Rebecca Chambers about a half-hour ago."

Chris' face was suddenly a mask of worry, and he climbed into the passenger seat quickly. Sheva swung herself behind the wheel, and started the Taurus up. Driving out of the parking lot, she looked at his stricken face, and once again wished that she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news.

"What'd Becky say?" Chris asked, anxious now.

"That Tri-Cell found her house. She's safe," Sheva added quickly when she saw the color of Chris' face go from red to a stark white all in the space of two seconds. "Claire and Allie are fine. Well, Allie is definitely, Claire's MIA. Your sister wouldn't tell Rebecca where she was headed; but she's with Leon, so I'm sure that he'll keep her safe." Chris' face was red again at the mention of Leon's name; Sheva knew that was a touchy subject with Chris. Leon Kennedy had hurt his sister, and Sheva knew that Chris still held a grudge against the younger man.

"So, Claire _left _Allie with Becky?" Chris' voice was amazed, annoyed, and worried all at once, and Jill laughed suddenly from the backseat.

"Well, of course she did! It's what I would have done; I mean, come on Chris! Think for a second! Would you want to go out on a dangerous mission with an infant?" Jill said reassuringly.

"Yeah, I guess so..." Chris didn't sound quite convinced, but he waited patiently for Sheva to continue.

"Becky said that they're not staying in one spot too long; hinted at jumping the border into Canada for a while. So far, Claire hasn't called her, but if she does, Becky said that she'd let us know. She also mentioned that this was tied to some case that the CIA and the BSAA were into, and she has Barry checking into that for any leads," Sheva turned onto the highway, and checked her GPS quickly to see that she was still headed for the airport.

"So where are we going? Michigan to rendevous with Becky?" Chris asked.

"I called Josh already. He said that there's only two cases that the BSAA and the CIA are collaborating on at the moment. And I highly doubt that Claire would ever get herself involved in a Chinese prostitution ring. So that leaves Paris." Sheva finished, looking smug. She was barely twenty four years old, but she was resourceful, if nothing else.

"What's in Paris?" Jill wondered aloud.

Looking in the rearview mirror into Jill's big blue eyes, she replied, "Rumors of a clone...Of the late Albert Wesker."

Jill was outwardly calm, cool, collected. Inwardly, she balked at the name of her dead tormentor. A thrill of terror leeched down her spine, threatening to paralyze her. She felt the tremors start in her hands, and so she balled her fingers into fists. Pitiful, how weak she'd become.

Chris was silent in the front seat, and Sheva had stopped talking altogether. Jill wished that someone would say something; anything. The lack of noise was making her uneasy, and Jill found herself moving forward between the seats, switching the radio on. Some rock band, doing a remake of Lynard Skynard's 'Simple Man' song; not bad...the music was oddly soothing. Jill was aware that she was starting to slip into one of her fugue states; it happened less often now, but whenever she was thinking about him, or was reminded of him somehow, the episodes blocked out her senses. It was a trick she'd learned while under Wesker's control to deal with the pain, so that the worst parts of his cruelty were mercifully blocked out.

The episodes were why she wasn't with Chris anymore; and who could blame the guy? When your girlfriend tended to black out at random moments, and especially during sex, what was he supposed to do? He'd hung on to her longer than she'd thought was fair, and even though she resented the fact that he was moving on, Jill couldn't hate Sheva...totally. She could strongly dislike the younger woman, but hating her was really hard to do. Especially since Sheva had asked Jill if it was alright if she went out with Chris.

He could have done worse.

Now totally unaware of her surroundings, Jill sat and found herself drifting, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. No thoughts entered this domain, no outside stimuli penetrated this sanctuary. Jill may as well have been a vegetable, for all the good she was doing right now.

After a long time (or a short time, she never could tell), Jill came to her senses, slowly registering her surroundings. Jill was distressed to discover that they were on a plane, flying presumably to Paris, France. Sighing, she stretched her sore back muscles, wishing that she could gain some semblance of control over her life again.

"Welcome back, Jill," Sheva whispered, her hazel eyes sympathetic. God, if only she could hate the beautiful African woman.

Chris was worried. Why the hell hadn't his sister called him? It was just odd; Claire always called him first. She knew that he'd have come to help her, so why go to that scum bag Leon? There was just something fishy about this whole situation, it felt entirely too much like a trap.

What other choice did he have, though? Claire was his baby sister, the only family he had left. He felt sick.

As he followed Jill and Sheva out of the airport into the sleet covered streets of Paris, France, Chris wondered just how the hell he was going to find his sister in this maze of a city. And then it hit him: Tri-Cell had a large office here; and if he were going to find his sister, why not start there? It was suicide, but right now, it was their best bet.

"So what's the plan?" Sheva asked, slowing her pace so that she fell back into step with Chris. She looked so cold, her small frame shivering as tiny snowflakes flew in swirls around them. Chris shrugged out of his bomber jacket, the one that his sister had given him over ten years ago as a Christmas present. Ratty and well-worn, he never the less loved it. Sheva flashed a silent thank you his way, and he smiled at her as his gut turned uncomfortably.

"I think we should start at the beginning," Jill said, falling into step with the pair at Sheva's left. "Tri-Cell's got an office building in Paris, why not start there? Maybe we'll get lucky."

"That's crazy! How long have we been running from them?" Sheva sighed, and continued. "But you're probably right. We don't have any real leads to follow...I just wish that we had someone we could contact here, a go-between."

"We might," Chris smiled suddenly, and pulled out his cell phone. "I just remembered a friend who lives close by; an old bud from the BSAA. Maybe he can help." Scrolling down his contacts list, Chris found Chuck's number and hit the send button.

"Hello?" Chuck's voice greeted him blearily; and Chris had a twinge of regret as he realized that it was barely six am.

"Hey, Chuck. It's Chris. Sorry to call so early, but I was wondering if you'd be able to meet me somewhere," Chris held his breath for a moment. Chuck was still BSAA, and while him and Chris had been pretty good friends back in the day, he wasn't 100% sure if he was tightening the proverbial noose around his own neck by calling him.

"Chris? Redfield?" Chuck said both names seperately, both as a question, and Chris suddenly had a bad feeling.

"Yeah, it's me," Chris' heart was starting to pump faster, and he was regretting calling.

"Man, you know they got a hit out on you, right? I mean, you know I still work for them. What's your damage? You got to be in some real trouble if you're calling me. And don't worry, I ain't going to call you in," Chuck said, his Brooklyn accent thick. Chris felt relief flooding through his system.

"I'd rather talk to you in person. Is there somewhere we could meet? Somewhere really public?" Chris hated having to take this precaution, but if Chuck decided to turn them in, at least they'd only be arrested, and not dead.

"This is about your sister, isn't it? I saw her yesterday. Dropped her and Kennedy off for a meeting with the CEO of Tri-Cell; I think his name's Wesker." Chuck reported.

"Wesker's dead," Chris said numbly, shock and confusion evident on his face.


	9. Chapter 8:A Death, A Birth, Brother Mad

Chapter 8: A Death, A Birth, and A Brother Pissed

Leon felt like his world was crashing in on him as he watched Claire pacing the length of Mikhail's office. Mikhail was sitting at the desk, watching them all with patient eyes, and the unconscious clone was laying on a sofa. They only had a lamp on in the pitch dark room, and it cast their shadows out strangely, reminding him of a movie he'd once seen, Nosferatu, a classic black and white version of Dracula.

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Claire worried. Leon couldn't help but to hear the hysteric edge her voice had taken on, and once again he felt inadequate. A clone, this was a fucking clone! The agent wished that the fucking _thing_ had died in the attack. Suddenly feeling worse, Leon turned to stare out into the blizzard.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Leon said gently, choking back the accusations that loomed beneath his calm demeanor. He wanted to scream at her, shake her, kiss her...this was his absolute worse nightmare; to lose Claire.

"Claire," Mikhail chided softly. "Please sit. I'm afraid that you're going to wear a path into that sixteenth century Chinese rug, and I'm quite fond of it. Besides, I do believe that the pacing is only making your anxiety worse."

Sighing, Claire obliged him, and sat on the edge of a footstool. She still look pretty stung out, but after a few minutes of sitting in silence, Claire's breathing evened out.

"Leon, you're more than welcome to take a seat as well. You look tired," Mikhail said, and when Leon turned to meet his gaze, the old man's eyes were sympathetic. Great. So he knew.

"Yeah, Leon. Come sit by me," Claire offered, smiling weakly at him. His heart flopped, and a bit of the pain subsided. Perhaps he'd misread her concern towards the clone. Leon walked towards her, and as he sat, she leaned into his chest. Hugging her close to himself, Leon kissed the top of her head lightly.

"I love you," he whispered against her hair.

"Love you, too," She answered tiredly. It was getting early; they'd been in this office for over eight hours, and the sun would be coming up soon. A phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence, and Mikhail answered, in French. Leon wished that he'd paid more attention in French class when he'd been in high school. It was a little unnerving that he couldn't understand the conversation going on, when Claire and him were this deep in enemy territory. Mikhail hung up the phone, and looked at Leon and Claire, whom were both watching him intently.

"A bit of news, Claire. Your brother is in the city, looking for you. I will have him contacted if you wish," Mikhail said. He seemed troubled, though.

"Yes, I'd like that," Claire said.

"What else, Mikhail? My French is rusty, but I know that's not all that was said." Leon pressed, his hand resting on his gun lightly.

"Very astute of you, Mr. Kennedy. I fear that I will no longer require a sample of blood from Claire. The clone that escaped is not the clone that I needed. He is from an earlier stage in the experimentation, and every bit as human as you and I; the clone that I was to receive the organs from is dead." Mikhail slumped suddenly in his chair, and picked up the phone. Once again, the conversation was all but gibberish to Leon.

"Your brother will meet you at the airport. I'll give you my spare passport, and I want you two to leave with the clone immediately. You can go home now; no one will bother you again. And tell your brother that the Corporal Jeremiah Cross is dead. It seems that the clone shot him," Mikhail tossed a little booklet towards Leon, who caught it easily.

"That's it? A free get out of jail pass, this nightmare's over?" Claire asked suspiciously. Leon thought that this was all way too easy, there had to be a catch.

"If you leave now. I'll be frank with you. My hope is gone, I will die soon; and I'd rather it be by my own hand then by this disease that has plagued me for so long. When you've gone, I'll end it. Don't let it concern you. Make sure he's safe," Mikhail looked pointedly at the prone figure on the couch. "I'll call ahead and reserve your seats. In that closet, there's a spare suit, it should fit him. Please, take care of him."

"Does he know who he is?" Claire asked suddenly, and Leon looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"He may. Genetic memory can be long, and he may remember pieces of his former life, if nothing else. I pray that it's only the good that revolves in his head, and none of the pain that Albert suffered so long ago." Mikhail's face was suddenly older, and Leon felt sad for him. Rising from his seat, Leon strode across the room to the closet that Mikhail had referred to, and pulled out a simple three piece suit, and chose a matching pair of shoes. There were ties, but Leon ignored them. A tie seemed too much like the old Wesker, too familiar.

"Wake him up if you can, Claire. I think he likes you," Leon said, before elaborating. "He seemed pretty docile once he saw you in the hallway." Claire nodded, and shook the clone's shoulder gently.

"Get up," Claire's voice commanded. The clone stirred, and opened baby blue eyes.

His eyelids fluttered open, and the woman from his dreams was staring down at him, worry and sadness shadowing her gray-blue eyes. There was a man, too, the man from earlier, and the old one as well; although they meant little to him at the moment. It pained him to see such suffering in her eyes. He reached his hand up to cup her face.

"Hello," The woman said, and then after a pause, she continued. "How are you feeling?" The man smiled at her, and sat up.

"Good. I feel good. What is your name?" The man asked her, his voice hoarse.

"Claire. Claire Redfield. Do you know your name?" Claire, his angel, said sweetly. She had such a melodious voice. The man could listen to it all day and all night and never grow weary of it.

"My name is..." The man began, but as he tried to remember, nothing came. There was something tickling in his brain, as if he knew the knowledge, but somehow it eluded him. Focusing harder, the man tried to recall his name only to grow frustrated when he could not. "I do not know my name, Claire Redfield. Do you know it?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't..." The old one spoke now, and the man looked at him incredulously. Not tell? Who was he that he should not know? More importantly, what was he? Suddenly, the man felt as if he were drowning again; like he had in the tank. He was angry, and hurt, and worried that he was some kind of monster. Just like the others whom had been kept in those other tanks.

"There's no sense in keeping it a secret," the younger man said. "He'll find out eventually. Besides, it's only fair that he know, after all that he's been through."

"But he doesn't have a name, not really. He's not..." Claire started, and then she smiled at him. He felt his heart thumping inside of his chest as if it would leap out of it's confines at any moment. "I'm sorry that we're all talking about you when you can hear us. It's just that this is a bit strange for us all. You see, I once knew a man. And then that man died." his angel's eyes were filling with tears, and he reached out to wipe each drop as they fell. "You were made from this man, from his blood. You are a clone. So I'm not sure that your name would be the same. Do you remember anything? From before?"

"I remember you," The man said, cupping her face now with both hands. "I remember that I loved you. I remember..." The man kissed her lips softly, and continued. "Kissing you, holding you, loving you. But I do not remember anything else. Not even my name."

"Those memories aren't yours. They're his. You have never met Claire before this," the old one said. These words hurt the man deeply; he knew how he felt. Knew that he loved this woman before him. How could these memories be false?

"Mikhail, please. You could be a bit more sensitive. He's new to this, and if he says he remembers Claire, then he remembers her. I know that I'd never forget her, even if I died," the young one spoke again, and Claire looked at him thankfully.

"What was my name? Who was I?" The man asked. He had so many feelings running through his system, and he was so tired still.

"Albert Wesker," the younger man said. "Everyone who knew you called you Wesker."

"Wesker," the man crinkled his nose a bit. The name didn't ring any bells, and it was ugly. He didn't like it. "I don't like it. Isn't there something else I could be called?"

"Al?" Claire suggested. The man still wasn't sold. He didn't like it. And then it hit him.

"Wes. I would like it if you called me Wes." He said, smiling at them all in turn.

"Wes it is then. But for now, your name will be," The young man paused and leafed through a small book in his hands. "Jason Davis."

"Here," Claire picked up clothing, and offered it to Wes, who took it gratefully. He stood and dressed, unconcerned with his nudity.

"Jason Davis...is that a passport? Are we traveling?" Wes asked the young one.

"Yes. We're going back to America. Back home." Claire said. "Leon, you, and me; we're going home." So the young one had a name, too. It was good to know who his friends were.

"Have a good flight, you three. And Claire?" The old one, Mikhail said. "Remember that he may look like my brother, but he is someone else. Remember who's stood by you through it all."

Wes wasn't sure what Mikhail meant, but Claire's face went paler for a moment as her eyes shifted between Leon and himself. There was something that Wes was missing, but just what it was eluded him. Pushing it from his thoughts, he followed Leon and Claire out of the office and into a hallway. As they were waiting for the elevator, Wes flinched when he heard a gun shot ring out. Claire cried out, and began to rush back from where they'd come, when Leon grabbed her arm, and pulled her into his embrace. A pang of jealousy rattled through Wes' bones, and he now knew what Mikhail had been saying in the office.

So his angel was someone else's'. His heart was breaking, and Wes had to look away from the pair.

Chris waited by Gate 17, pacing in front of Jill and Sheva impatiently. Where the hell was she? How long did it take? He couldn't wait to get some answers from his sister. And that asshole Kennedy.

"I see them!" Sheva said suddenly, pointing towards his sister, Leon, and another man, presumably Mikhail...Although it looked a whole hell of a lot like Albert Wesker. Chris heard Jill gasp, and he looked back at her ghostly white face. She looked terrified, her eyes huge, her mouth open, and her chest heaving.

"Claire!" Chris yelled out, catching a few stares from the small crowd in the airport lounge. His sister spotted them and waved, hurriedly making a beeline towards him. Leon and the other man stopped where they were; it seemed that Claire would be the one to explain the Wesker-look-a-like. It was still shocking to Chris to find out that his dead enemy had actually had family.

"You've got some explaining to do, missy. What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?! You should have called me!" Chris instantly railed at his sister as soon as she was in earshot of him. Claire sighed, and Chris noticed how tired she looked. She had dark circles around her eyes, her hair was a snarled mess, and her clothes were wrinkled and unkempt. He felt a little bit bad about yelling at her, but damn it! Chris should have been the first person to know about this!

"I'll explain later, bro. Right now, I need to tell you something. Tri-Cell's not looking for us anymore. I took care of it; Wesker's brother helped me. But..." She hesitated, looking back towards Leon and the other man. "We found Wesker's clone."

"You...Clone? Are you telling me that he," Chris jerked his thumb at the stranger. "Is Wesker?"

"Wes, actually. He didn't like the name Albert Wesker. Anyway, Mikhail made me promise to take care of him, in exchange for clearing our names. And you know that a Redfield never breaks a promise, right?" Claire warned, giving him her 1,000 yard stare.

"Promise or not, I'm not going to allow this! Are you out of your fucking mind?! Wesker tried to kill me, you, Jill, Sheva, Leon; hell, everyone on the planet! And you want me to just accept his clone?!" Chris was aware that his face was turning red, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

"He _isn't_ Wesker. And I don't care, Chris. I'm taking him with me because I promised to." When Claire looked into Chris' eyes, she was pleading. "He has no one else, and no where to go. Please, Chris."

Sighing, Chris slumped his shoulders, and looked at 'Wes' uncertainly. He trusted his sister, and he still (despite his anger towards the man) trusted Leon. They wouldn't lead him astray. Besides, he reasoned with himself, he had his gun.

"I guess. But if he gets out of line, even once, and I think he's acting too much like Wesker, then I'll kill him." Chris said, his voice serious. Claire nodded, and waved to Leon and Wes, who came forward slowly.

"Jill's slipped into one of her states again, Chris," Sheva announced, and Chris groaned. He was starting to see what triggered her attacks.

"Hello," Wes said to him, extending his hand out in greeting. Chris looked at it until Claire jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, and it was only then that he shook Wes' hand. The only thing different about this Wesker from the last one was the eye color; and even that wasn't really different. Wesker had blue eyes before he'd been infected. Somehow that fact, Wes' eyes being blue, put Chris a bit more at ease. Maybe it was because he didn't sense any of the hatred that the previous Wesker had exhibited towards him. The being before him now seemed almost...chipper to be here.

"Hi." Chris returned, his attention split between the trio in front of him and the pair behind him. Sheva was leading Jill towards the gate, and so Chris motioned for the others to follow him. They each went through security without a hitch, and had soon boarded the plane.


	10. Chapter 9:Miracles Do Sometimes Happen

Chapter 9: Miracles Do Sometimes Happen...

Sheva shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not because of the chair, but because of the tension that hung thickly in the air around her. So much animosity, distrust, and anger. Chris was obviously worried about Jill and Claire, Leon looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, and Claire's eyes would mist up from time to time as she was lost in her memories. The only two seemingly not affected by all of this was Jill, who was next to comatose right now, and Wes. The later of the two was obviously new to everything; full of questions and excitement, he drilled everyone about what he called his "former self".

"So the me before me tried to _kill_ you? Man, that me must have been a real asshole," Wes said, and Chris chuckled lightly at the usage of 'asshole'; it hadn't been a word in Wes' vocabulary before he'd heard Chris use it. Sheva found that she quite enjoyed this Wesker, he was charming, witty, and had a certain innocence about him. The blue eyes were a plus, as well, Wesker's elliptical red-orange eyes had just been insanely creepy.

"So you really don't remember anything about before?" Chris asked Wes.

"I remember Claire. I dreamt about her often. I think it's the only thing that kept me sane in that tank. I would have died otherwise." Wes said. Chris frowned deeply at that, but he kept his mouth shut. Sheva was surprised at Chris' patience, he really had matured since she'd met him.

"How do you remember Claire, though? You were created, to be blunt about it. I don't mean to offend, but it seems impossible that you would remember anything." Sheva wondered aloud.

"Well, Mikhail said that it's possible that DNA carries more than just a code for a person, it may also hold memories and experiences. The research that goes with this theory is next to nothing; mainly because of cloning being illegal, but it is possible that Wes has some of Wesker's memories locked away in his genetic makeup," Leon explained. He seemed morose, and Sheva knew exactly how he felt. Leon and her would always be second best, Claire's and Chris' second choice. Somehow it was sadder for Leon; a mere clone of Wesker seemed to be enough to come between him and Claire.

"So, theoretically, Wes may remember how to do things that he's never done before. Maybe even more than he knows now." Claire said.

"Test it. Give him your gun, Chris," Everyone was startled by Jill's voice. She was staring at the clone, her face devoid of emotion. She still wasn't totally back, but swimming on the edges of reality. This behavior was new; she'd never broken through one of her spells to speak coherently, and Chris thought that perhaps she was having some kind of breakthrough; her psychologist thought that she might if given enough time. Maybe having to confront her former tormentor's face had triggered it.

Unloading his weapon, Chris then handed it to Wes, who looked at him curiously. "See if you remember how to break it down and put it together again." Wes nodded. What the clone didn't know, but him and Jill did, was that their former captain could break and rebuild a standard issue Berretta 9mm handgun in under thirty seconds. And then, as they all watched, Wes began to break the gun down with lightning quick speed, his fingers flying surely and each piece was carefully laid out before him on his empty dinner tray. A few curious eyes besides their own watched, so Chris flashed his fake badge to ease their tension. Leon whistled low as Wes laid down the newly put together gun, and clicked his wrist watch.

"Twenty four point eight seconds," The agent announced. "That's impressive."

"Then he still remembers how to kill," Jill said, smiling faintly. She wasn't fully aware, but neither was she unaware; a kind of twilight had settled over her.

"I am capable of it. I did kill, but they were trying to kill me," Wes said sadly. He hung his head, and began to cry; and Chris could only stare for a moment. The great Albert Wesker crying; and although he knew that it wasn't really Wesker, the sight was still unnerving. "I didn't want to, but they were shooting at me, they blew the glass right out of my tank, and tried to kill me like all the others. I saw them, too, those things they were keeping inside the other glass tanks. Monsters. I'm a monster born from a monster, aren't I?" Wes whispered out bitterly.

"The first time is always the hardest," Jill said, patting Wes' knee gently. She was starting to come back into this world, and Chris could only watch, transfixed, as the image of their greatest enemy brought her back to life.

"I don't want to kill again," Wes looked up, his eyes filled with worry. "I won't, will I?"

"Not unless you have to. I think you're alright, Wes. I like you," Jill said, again wowing the others with her presence. This was some kind of miracle. No one had ever been able to reach Jill when she was in one of her fugue states. And Wes hadn't even tried.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Wes. We've all had to pull the trigger at some point. It's inevitable when you get mixed up with Tri-Cell," Chris added gently. "You weren't given a choice, either, and yet you're doing just fine. Better than your former self, definitely."

Claire was then on her feet, rushing towards the bathroom. Leon followed her, scrambling through the aisle way. Chris was a bit worried, but somehow he knew that this was between those two. Besides, Jill was smiling; actually smiling. It had been months since anyone had seen that sight.

Claire tried to slam the bathroom door, but Leon's foot was caught in it suddenly, and then he was pushing in with her, closing the door and locking it.

"I want to be alone!" Claire demanded, pushing him backwards. His back hit the door with a dull thud, and he grunted, but the man made no move to leave. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her into a fierce hug. Claire struggled against his embrace for a moment, but then the tears started to fall, and she felt as if he were her only hope in an ocean of despair. She clung to him, sobbing, and he just held her tighter; murmuring soothing words in her ear.

"Claire, please tell me what you're thinking. I'm dying inside, watching you suffer because of him," Leon begged. She met his searching gaze, and couldn't form words. So she did the only other thing she could. She kissed him.

Leon buried his hands in her hair, his tongue snaking out into her mouth, and she sucked at it eagerly. She wanted him. She loved him. And she was doing it again, not telling him, keeping him on the fence with her silence, tormenting the man she adored...When would she learn?! Leon's hands started to roam then, and all of her self-loathing was forgotten as she felt her stomach lurch.

She pressed her body closer to him, moaning into his kiss and running her nails along his back. Claire wasn't surprised to feel his hardness against her belly, but she was thankful. Words often failed her, but her body would give him the message he needed. She just lamented that it would happen in the bathroom, _again_. The pair melted into one another, becoming more feverish in their advances; clothing was falling in heaps around their feet, and Leon's tongue trailed her neck as he lifted her up effortlessly.

His hands held her bottom up, and she was naked and quaking for his touch; she had to bite her lip as she felt the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. Claire tried to buck her hips forward to sink his flesh into hers, but he resisted, instead lifting her body up and down so that the torment continued. Shock waves of pleasure made her whole body ache for him, and she brought her lips slamming down on his, her tongue delving into his mouth the way she wanted him to, in and out, slow and then fast. Still, he didn't give in, instead sitting her on the tiny sink. He dropped to his knees, and kissed her damp folds. His tongue flicked out and teased her tiny bud, at which point Claire couldn't help the noises coming unbidden from her mouth.

Claire's fingers sought his hair, and as his tongue did wicked things to her, she massaged his scalp with her nails, moaning and writhing. Leon's mouth was hot, his every breathe tickling her nether regions, and then he slid his finger inside her, crooking it until she felt him hit something inside of her that nearly made her buck right off the sink from the pleasure. He continued to rub that inner spot, sucking and licking her all the while, and so she tossed her head back helplessly and tried to keep the moaning to a minimum. He sunk another digit into her, and she nearly cried out. His head came up at the sharp noise that she'd made, and she took that opportunity to pull at his shoulders, her hips still bucking at his fingers.

The look in his half-lidded eyes was one that sent her heart crashing against her ribcage, and she licked her lips seductively and ran her fingertips over his muscular shoulders. Leon didn't disappoint her; he pulled his fingers out of her only to replace it with his throbbing member, pulling her forward into a crushing embrace. His lips sought hers, and as their hips came together, Claire's cry was only muffled by his kiss.

"Do you love me?" Leon asked in a breathless whisper as he continued to slam into her. Claire was too enrapt in their movements, too breathless herself to answer him right away. "Do you love me, Claire?" He repeated, his gray eyes burning into hers. She could see the want, the need in him, but words were impossible right now as she threw her head back and moaned loudly, sweat beading down her neck. His mouth captured her nipple as he cupped the other one with his enormous hand, his teeth and tongue tormenting her sweetly as his hand kneaded her breast gently, his hips never breaking rhythm with hers. She could feel him moving powerfully inside of her, rocking and swaying her very soul, it seemed. Her heart felt like it would explode from her chest, and she hissed between clenched teeth as he nipped the underside of her breast, his hands now cradling her lower back, his fingers splayed against her ribcage.

"Tell me," Leon demanded, his lips nipping past her shoulder, along her neck, all the while slamming into her forgivingly. Claire tried to kiss his lips, but he eluded her, instead bringing his lips up to her ear. "Tell me, Claire!"

Her world was beginning to narrow, the sensations his body created inside of her were too much, and she was sure that either her lungs or her heart would give out at any second now. His cock slammed into her ever faster, the bathroom door was shaking with each one of his thrusts, and it was then that she nearly fell off the sink; unperturbed, Leon picked her up by her hips and continued this sweet torment, his lips grazing her cheek.

"I," She started, but the sound became higher pitched as he practically railed into her over and over again, and it took her a second to recover. "I love you, Leon Scott Kennedy! I love you, I love you, I love you...." If before Claire had been unable to say a single word, this mantra fell from her mouth just as involuntarily, and Leon's lips claiming hers was the only thing that stopped it.

Claire's whole body felt like it was on fire, and then she exploded, imploded, stars crashing around her vision as she clung to Leon helplessly, and if it hadn't been for his mouth crushing her lips below his own, their liaison would have been known to every last soul on this airplane. Leon grunted as she felt his hot seed hit her womb, and yet he didn't stop, instead prolonging her climax by continuing to slide into her. Claire felt tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and it was a moment before she realized that their movements had all but ground to a halt, her hips occasionally still bucking against his, and she missed the length and girth of him as he pulled out of her slowly.

Leon held her aloft still, his head buried in her hair as he kissed her neck sweetly.

"I love you, babe," Leon whispered out. "Whatever you decide, I'll always love you. Don't you ever forget it." Claire was confused for a moment, before she realized what he was talking about.

Laughing gently, she said, "I've already made my decision, Leon. Isn't it obvious? I know that's not Wesker. He's dead. But you've always been there for me, forever and always. I'll always be here for you. I love you, Leon. Only you."

"That's all sweet and cute, you two, but some of us need to use the facilities!" Chris' voice came booming from outside the door, and he knocked loudly. Much like the knocking that the door had made earlier...

"Oh, my, God!" Claire whispered out, and it was Leon's turn to chuckle. She could feel her face turning red, and as she dressed hurriedly, as much as Claire willed her blush to recede, it wouldn't. So when they finally opened the door, her brother's face was just as red as hers felt, and although he said nothing, the look on his face and the crinkle of his nose let her know his displeasure. Claire would definitely hear about this later.

"Dear god, did you have to make it smell like ass in here?" Chris said as he closed the door behind him. Leon's face split in a grin at the words, and he led her back to their seats; and Claire knew that they both looked disheveled by his appearance. His blonde hair was matted to his face and neck in places from the sweat, and he'd buttoned his shirt wrong, missing not one button, but two. She felt her face practically burst into spontaneous combustion as Sheva, Jill, and Wes all stared at her and Leon, and despite the occasionally ribbing from the two girls, Claire didn't say another word the entire trip.


	11. Chapter 10:Reunion

Chapter 10: Reunion

It had been three whole days since she'd seen her daughter; Claire was practically mowing down strangers to get to Allison. Chris had to suppress a chuckle at the sight. His sister, despite having been a bit of a wild child in her younger days, had turned out to be an excellent mother. Jill and Wes hadn't stopped talking since about an hour ago; Jill really seemed to like him. It was almost enough to give him deja vu; the normalcy with which they chatted reminded him of the days before the mansion incident, when the world had made sense. Chris chanced a look backwards, and was surprised to see Jill actually laughing ten paces or so behind him, smiling sweetly up at Wes. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and it looked like she might actually be flirting with him...Chris' stomach turned uneasily.

Being so familiar with Jill, Chris could read her like a book...most of the time. Her movements and gestures all pointed to the fact that she wanted to sleep with Wes. Confused and a little hurt, Chris decided to put the thought from his mind, at least for the moment. His niece was waiting, after all. Ahead of them, Rebecca was waving crazily. Allie was chewing on Rebecca's hair; it had gotten a lot longer since he'd last seen the ex-Bravo team member. Claire was already on them, nearly snatching Allie from Becky's arms and laying kisses all over the child's face. He smiled at the sight before him, and Sheva took his hand in hers lightly.

"Well, your sister seems happy," Sheva said above the hectic din that the crowd created in the packed airport lounge. Looking pointedly towards Jill and Wes, and then knowingly up at Chris, Sheva smiled, and asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Glad this is over," Chris gritted out between teeth he hadn't realized were clamped together. His jaw felt tense, and he tried to relax it without much success. He shouldn't care; what Jill did was Jill's business. If she wanted to fuck every guy in this airport, it was none of his concern, they weren't together anymore.

But it did bother him, and Sheva could see it. Chris felt horrible suddenly. He kissed the top of Sheva's head, and hugged her to himself; his stomach turning like he'd eaten a whole pan of two-week old lasagna.

"I love you, babe," He whispered simply against her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Love you too, Chris," Sheva returned, smiling up at him. They'd stopped moving; and Jill and Wes walked around them...well, Jill did anyway; Wes stopped maybe two feet in front of Chris and Sheva, his back going rigid as he stared forward at Claire and Allie. Chris watched him curiously; a dread feeling leaking into his veins, cold and unwelcome. His instinct was trying to tell him something, and it was best to listen. Not listening to your instincts would get you killed, guaranteed.

Walking forward, Chris put his hand on Wes' shoulder in a friendly manner, but the man still stared, seeming to not register Chris' presence. Upon closer inspection, Wes' eyes were wide, his face pale, and his muscles tense. A chill ran down Chris' spine at the sight, again that feeling of deja vu, only this time the memories that Wes' image dredged up were less pleasant. This was Wesker...this look was purely Albert Wesker. Chris' hand itched to reach for his pistol.

"The child...My child..." Wes whispered out, and Chris was suddenly on high alert, alarm bells whistling in his head. "That's my little girl, isn't it?"

"Albert Wesker was Allison's biological father, yes. Technically, you're a genetic match," Sheva said, frowning up at Chris. So she was worried too. "But you must remember who _you_ are, Wes. These memories, these thoughts; no good can come of them. They are best forgotten."

"Allison..." Wes whispered out, tears springing from his eyes. He started to step forward, but Chris and Sheva held him back gently. Wes' face went from sad to pissed all in the space of two seconds, and so when Chris felt the fist connect with his face he was knocked backwards a few paces, and then he heard Sheva cry out as Wes shouldered past her easily. Chris was running then, after the clone of his enemy; he'd known that this was a mistake, and now his sister was going to get hurt, and it would be his fault; all his fault!

Wes was knocking over strangers as he barreled forward, pushing through the crowds, his eyes only set on his goal; Chris' family. Panic set in, and Chris tried to run faster, his heart pounding impossibly fast. He looked at Claire and Becky; Rebecca's eyes were wide with terror, and he saw her reach into her jacket, watched her as she pulled a gun out and leveled it at Wes through the crowd.

"NO!!!" Claire screamed out, knocking the gun out of Rebecca's hand. Chris was gaining on Wes, but he wasn't as fast as the blur that passed him; and then suddenly Wes was tackled to the ground. Leon was struggling with Wes on the linoleum, trying to contain the man. Security guards were pushing through the people around them, and someone started screaming when Leon pulled his gun out and pointed it right between Wes' eyes.

Wes stopped struggling, and looked up at Leon, blinking.

"Did I miss something here?!" Claire screeched out, Rebecca holding on to Allie a few paces back, who was crying and fussing. She stood over the two with her hands on her hips, feet splayed, and a look in her eye that scared Chris.

Without looking at her, Leon said, "He's after Allie, Claire. He fucking remembers!" Leon's voice was stained and each of the syllables clipped in emphasis. His hair shaded his eyes like a blonde curtain, and as Chris came to stand opposite Claire, he couldn't be sure of Leon's mind. The agent's hands were shaking, his trigger finger nearly tense enough to engage a shot. Everything about his posture screamed his anger.

Chris looked to the left as a security guard flanked him, gun drawn and eyes wild. He was shorter than Chris was almost by a head, balding, fat, and out of breath. Chris had to suppress a laugh; figures that out of all the airport security, this heart-attack on feet would arrive first.

"Drop your weapon!" The man panted out, his voice shaky. More guards were convening around them, screaming similar warnings. The airport terminal around them was total chaos; people were screaming and running, only a few hovered on the far edges of the make-believe circle to eavesdrop and watch with curious eyes.

Allie started to cry.

Whether it was the security guards or Allie's wailing, Leon seemed to come to his senses a bit. Chris was happy to note that the man visibly relaxed, no longer did his hands shake, and his finger was now just resting on the trigger guard. Leon chanced a quick look up towards the first man who had spoken, before returning his gaze to Wes. Wes remained unmoving, his eyes focused on the barrel of the pistol that pointed towards his skull.

"CIA," Leon said, before unstrapping his badge and tossing it at the security guard, who fumbled to catch it. "This is my suspect. If you gentlemen will please lower your weapons and allow me to escort this man from the premises..." Leon shoved Wes onto his stomach expertly; Chris had to admire the man's style, so smooth and cocky. Leon suddenly reminded Chris of himself, almost fifteen years ago. The guard looked over Leon's credentials carefully, and then lowered his weapon. The man looked visibly relieved; this wasn't a terrorist attack or anything that _he'd_ have to deal with personally. The threat was neutralized in his eyes. The good guy had prevailed; he could return to his desk and scarf down some more donuts. Chris almost laughed out loud again, only barely keeping himself in check.

Another guard engaged his radio, calling off the enforcements. The guards were starting to retreat, some began reassuring the frightened onlookers; normalcy was returning. Chris stepped forward to assist Leon in picking Wes up, each of them took and elbow and hauled the clone to his feet; newly handcuffed, Wes seemed to have lost all of his fight. His eyes were locked onto Allie, tears rolling down his cheeks as he silently cried.

"Here's your badge back," The security guard said as he handed it to Leon. "What'd he do? Your badge says Presidential Security...assassination attempt?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss this with civilians," Leon said, before making haste towards the exit.


	12. Chapter 11: Two Accidents

Chapter 11: Two Accidents

Wes was inwardly seething. No one would let him near Allison, his daughter. Chris and Leon were riding on either side of him in the back seat of Barry Burton's SUV, Carlos riding shotgun. Claire was riding with Rebecca, Jill, Sheva, and the one person that he wanted to see above all others; the child that he'd waited so patiently for...No, that wasn't right.

Images were flashing through his mind's eye; unfamiliar and yet he knew the places. Memories that were not his own; these were his predecessor's genetic memories. Wes' head felt like it was splitting open, pain laced through his skull in lightning quick pulses, and although he was aware of the men around him talking Wes could not understand the conversation.

Claire moved over him in his vision, so beautiful, her face full of rapture as she rode his hips roughly; and then the image shifted, to white rabbits in a cage; and again, and again. Each memory was vague and without sound, but clear in his mind, like watching a movie. Laboratories and gun ranges, deserts and snow covered landscapes all fluttered through his brain, making his head pound mercilessly. He saw Chris shooting at him; saw Claire as he stomped down on her chest, her back pinned to the ground; and then it stopped suddenly.

As the world around him came into focus once again, he realized that everyone was watching him. Grabbing his head and moaning, Wes felt tears leaking out of his eyes.

"He's bleeding all over the place back there! What the fuck is wrong with him?" Barry said, and at the words, Wes reached his hand up and touched his tears, his digits shaking. As he pulled them back into his line of sight, he couldn't help the gasp that escaped his throat. Blood tears.

"I don't fucking know! He's not responding to me, Barry," Chris said, and then Wes raised his eyes to level with Chris', the orbs big and full of fear.

"Help me..." Wes muttered out weakly, the pain in his head threatening to pop his brain out of it's bony case. His vision grew murky, and then he couldn't see at all, his body writhing and jerking sporadically as the pain increased between his temples. He could feel warm liquid oozing out of his nose, his mouth, even his ears; and somewhere in his brain he realized that it would be blood.

He was drifting now; losing consciousness. Wes welcomed it. Anything that made the pain go away....

Chris was near hysteria as he watched Wes' body seize up, blood now poring from his mouth, nose, ears, and even his eyes. For a moment, all he could do was stare, and then Leon was shouting something about grabbing his mouth. Sluggishly, his limbs feeling frozen, Chris did as he was instructed, tilting the man's head back and opening his mouth. Leon's fingers dove into the orifice, and then Chris realized what he was doing. Wes was choking on his tongue, he was really and truly having a seizure.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over; Wes' body went limp, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his face smeared with blood. Chris could only stare, shocked by what had just happened. He checked for a pulse, and found it. A bit erratic, but strong beneath his fingers; Wes hadn't died. He'd just lost consciousness.

"Radio ahead to Rebecca, Carlos. Don't let Claire hear what's happened, though. She'd flip, and right now we need her calm. Tell her to get some medical supplies ready, I want this _thing_ tested," Leon said, his voice bitter.

Chris had thought that he'd be the one acting like Leon was; angry and dragging his heels at the prospect of helping anything Wesker-related. But somehow Chris had taken a bit of a liking to the clone. Wes may look like his old boss, but he'd never acted like him, never given Chris that on-edge feeling in his gut that warned him that something bad was going to happen. The man that lay between them was anything but evil; Chris would have known instantly.

Then again, Chris wasn't having to deal with the image of his girlfriend's dead lover. Leon was obviously head over heels for his sister; and he couldn't imagine having to cope with the uncertainty that surely was circulating in the young man's head. Frowning, Chris hoped that his sister had enough brains in her skull to realize the difference between the clone and the man who had spawned it. Although he loathed the fact that his enemy had kidnapped Claire and impregnated her, he wouldn't change what had happened; as soon as Allie had been born, the whole ordeal had become worthwhile. This had been Wesker's only purpose, the only good he'd ever done in his life. Chris' niece was his world.

"What the hell was that all about?" Chris wondered aloud.

"Something's wrong with it," Leon spat out. His eyes were suspicious as he glared at the prone figure between them. "It's eyes...something is definitely wrong with it." Chris didn't miss the shudder that flashed over Leon's form. Afraid of what Leon had meant, yet knowing somehow what he'd find, Chris lifted one of Wes' eyelids.

Blue ringed fire. An elliptical iris in the center. It was like half of the old Wesker staring out at him, and a cold chill passed through Chris.

"Should we neutralize it? Before it becomes a problem?" Carlos asked from the front seat, and Chris quickly shook his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea. And I don't think it's right. He's not Wesker, and whatever is happening to him is out of his hands," Chris said, indignation in his tone. They were all acting as if Wes was something, not somebody. The poor man hadn't asked to be created by Tri-Cell, and hadn't caused anyone any harm...Although his reaction to Allie had been a bit scary.

Chris wished that he could know what Wes had been thinking back in the airport. The sucker punch to his face had surprised him more than it had hurt him, and Chris knew from experience that when Albert Wesker was pissed off, even human he'd packed some real power. That little sliver of violence had been about getting through Chris' defenses, not harming him. Putting himself in the clone's shoes, Chris was pretty sure that if he had a daughter, he'd want to see her at all costs. It was just really strange that Wes would remember so many little details about a life he'd never lived himself.

Tri-Cell was just as corrupt and twisted as Umbrella had been. Chris loathed the thought, but he knew that even if he was successful in eliminating Tri-Cell, another would just take it's place. It was moments like this that he missed his dad the most; Jack Redfield had been one of the finest cops that Raccoon City had ever seen, and he'd know what to say to reinstate Chris' shaken faith in his cause.

He'd barely been nineteen when both his parents had been murdered in their sleep. He'd been at a training facility in Texas, having newly enlisted in the United States Air Force, when he'd gotten the call. Chris had gotten leave to attend the funeral. He'd made arrangements to bring Claire with him to the base. She'd only just turned eleven years old, a month before their parents were killed. Chris had become very good at shouldering responsibilities.

Not that his sister had ever been a burden; not even when she'd run away from home after he'd refused to let her date one of his friends at the age of sixteen, or when she'd stolen his motorcycle and rode it three states over, before it broke down and he got a call from her in the middle of the night asking him for help. Claire had always been wild, but he loved his sister, no matter what.

"Chris," Leon said, hesitating. "I need to ask you a question. It's kind of important." He seemed nervous, and his voice was barely above a whisper; apparently, this was a private matter, something that he didn't want Barry or Carlos to hear.

"Wait for it, man. We're almost there; we just got onto M-21, and it's just maybe twenty more miles before we get to Laingsburg." Chris said, his voice just as low. Leon nodded, but he still seemed tense, and Chris wondered what could make the usually cool man so jumpy. No explanation jumped at him forthright. Putting it out of his mind, Chris looked at Wes once again. The blood was drying and flaking on his face and neck, but other than the gore streaking his visage, he looked peaceful and almost comfortable. He was snoring lightly, his breathing steady and unencumbered. Turning towards the window, Chris watched as the sun set over the snow covered landscape, pinks and reds fighting with the blues and violets of twilight over the leafless trees. Michigan was definitely one of the most beautiful places he'd ever visited; it was actually where he'd like to retire to someday.

That thought made him smile. Maybe, if what Claire and Leon said on the plane proved to be true about their names being cleared, then he'd just have to buy some property here. He'd always wanted to buy a house and raise a family, and it was about time that he start thinking about settling down. Especially since him and Sheva had the last little surprise; she'd been late for her period by almost three weeks before it had finally come last month. He'd been relieved, but a part of him had been oddly disappointed when she'd called him at four am to relay the news.

Barry turned onto Meridian Road; it would only be ten miles of curving country side before they'd reach their destination. Yes, Michigan and retirement were starting to look awfully tempting.

Claire sat in the back seat of Rebecca's Tahoe with Sheva and Allie, staring out the window in quiet contemplation. She was absolutely exhausted. Allie was asleep, and Jill and Sheva were quizzing Rebecca on Carlos' sexual prowess; a subject, that while interesting, wasn't what she wanted to hear right now. Right now, her thoughts were on Wes.

It was hard. Seeing him, hearing his voice; the man was identical to her dead love in every way. Her stomach was in total knots. She was putting Leon through hell with this. Claire had seen the contemptuous look on his face every time he glanced at Wes. At first, Claire hadn't understood the reasoning behind his hatred towards someone he didn't know, but since the airplane, and the bathroom, she'd finally gotten a little more clued in on the whole situation. Leon was afraid he'd lose her. He was mad, and hurt, and she'd been cruel to him by not being honest.

At first, when she'd seen Wes in that hallway, all the old feelings had come rushing back in, drowning her in a depression darker than any depths she'd known. Claire had run to Wes; she hadn't thought, just reacted. Realizing her mistake now wouldn't take the image of herself running to another man out of Leon's head. And knowing Leon the way she did, she knew that he'd probably been obsessing over the incident since it had occurred. Nothing could change that, nothing could erase it. She'd acted like a love-sick fool.

But it wasn't like that; Claire knew that what she'd had with Wesker had been sick and twisted; and it had been regret, not love, that had spurred her to take the clone into her arms and weep over his still form. Regret that she'd stubbornly refused to voice her feelings to Wesker himself when he'd been alive. There was no denying it; she'd fallen in love with the enemy, horribly and totally in love. Staring at her daughter lovingly, she smiled to herself.

Allie was her reward. For all the hurt and suffering, all the uncertainty and fear endured, she'd never, not in a million years, give up that time with Wesker. Claire cherished the memories that she had with the tyrant. Aside from his all-or-nothing take on things, Albert Wesker had been very charming, possessing a wit and intelligence that had at times astounded and amazed her. For a long time after her brother had rescued her from Egypt, Claire had wondered what would have happened if the outcome of that final battle between her brother and her lover had turned out differently. What would it have been like, to raise their daughter together in his 'new world'?

Claire had agonized over her lost love, feeling guilty about it and yet wanting to scream and rail at the world; oftentimes she'd sit alone in her room and cry, before laughter would burst from her mouth. Chris had thought for sure that she'd lost it, or at the very least, developed a type of schizoid bipolar disease. Two months of self-imposed hell. A purgatory on earth of her own making.

And then Leon had come to visit her. She'd been in her last month of pregnancy, and then one day, he'd just appeared at her brother's doorstep with a smile and a bouquet of daisies for her and a stuffed unicorn for the baby. Such thoughtful gifts...so touching, in fact, that Claire had fallen apart right there on the threshold; sobbing bitterly as Leon held her, the gifts forgotten on the cement steps.

Leon was her one constant; ever since Raccoon City, he'd always been there right at the moments she'd seemed to need him the most. Not believing in coincidence, Claire had to believe that it was fate intervening. So she'd listened.

When he'd left her, Claire hadn't blamed him, not really. She knew that it had been hard for him as he'd tried to comfort her in the dead of night when she woke up screaming Wesker's name; the nightmares just wouldn't go away. It was too much for him. Leon still loved her, though. After all this time, he still loved her.

Rebecca's phone rang, cutting the silence. After a brief and infuriatingly muted conversation, she hung up her cell phone. Was it Claire's imagination, or did they just speed up? The scenery was suddenly zooming by, the snowflakes zinging past her view, and Claire's brow furrowed in worry. With the roads like this, they shouldn't be going so fast, at least not with Allie in the vehicle...Still, Claire trusted Becky. She'd been a 'Michigander' for years, and Becky had never been in a single accident.

Rebecca's face was tight and drawn, her brow creased in an uncharacteristic frown. As Claire wondered about the phone call, Jill suddenly screamed from the passenger seat, "DEER!" Becky pulled the steering wheel to the left, which caused the Tahoe to slide along sideways down the middle of the road. Claire heard a loud thudding noise as the vehicle slammed into the poor animal, watched as it lifted off the ground and was flung into the snow covered ditch line. The SUV still wasn't slowing, continuing to skate in circles; Allie was awake and wailing now, and as Claire reached for her, headlights were suddenly bearing down on them.

The driver of the other vehicle, a little truck, laid on his horn, and tried to swerve around them, but instead clipped the back of the Tahoe and sent it skidding into the ditch on the opposite side of the road, and the inside of the car was thrown into utter chaos as they were sent flipping end over end. The only thing Claire could do was cling to the back of the seat and use herself as a shield over Allie, praying to God that the vehicle would stop. She could hear glass shattering around her, the shards flying at her back; the shriek of metal twisting almost deafening over their collective screams.

Something hit the back of Claire's head, and as she fought the darkness clouding her vision, her only thought was, "God, take care of my girl."

The shadows engulfed her.


	13. Chapter 12: Black Horizons

Chapter 12: Black Horizons

He was struggling to the surface. Almost broke through...damn Redfield! His host needed to die. It was the only way to unlock his true identity, and release himself from this farce that he was trapped in. The only way to get to his Claire and his Allison.

Project Phoenix hadn't only been about Claire and Allison. What his dim witted brother hadn't known was that the clone of himself had been programmed while in the tank, downloaded, if you will; with all the images and transgressions that had transpired during the course of Albert Wesker's life. It had been his fail-safe; his fall back in case of the worst scenario. All he had to do to gain his life back was to kill himself; a daunting task for someone locked deep inside the subconscious of a personality that was never supposed to exist.

This 'Wes' character was a problem. It must have been this body's way of processing the data; Albert Wesker had seen and done some terrible and frightening things in his lifetime, and perhaps that had been too much to take in all at once. It would explain the repression of the memories, and the alter ego's appearance. Still, this was quite the set-back...

A new body, with all of the kinks worked out...and all thanks to his lovely Claire. Her blood had ushered in a new era for him and his work. In order for the virus to take hold, however, he quite literally had to die; just like he had before. An unpleasant feeling, to be sure, but a necessary evil. Right now, as he'd tried to claw his way to the surface and take control of his body, the irritating presence that was at the wheel had fought him without even realizing that it had been a battle.

Still, he'd won some ground in that fight. Instead of the murky dark shapes that he'd been seeing as though second hand on a movie screen, he'd seen Chris Redfield's face, clear as day. Unwelcome as the sight may have been, he couldn't help but feel heartened. A few more attempts, and he may be able to take the dominate position in this vessel.

Then he could take Claire and his daughter...and take out anyone in his way.

Rebecca Chambers opened her eyes, choking on the smoke that was rolling in from the dashboard. It took her a minute to shake off the cobwebs clotting her brain and piece together the accident, but once she had, the medical professional in her kicked into high gear. She was dangling precariously, the seat belt holding her in only by her waist, but besides the smoke and a few bumps, she seemed to feel alright. Nothing broken, in any case. Looking right, she saw Jill in a similar position, twisting and moaning as she tried to break free of the binding safety belt. Allie was crying in the back seat, a sound that couldn't have been sweeter to Rebecca's ears.

Thanking Carlos' foresight, she scrambled in her jeans pocket for the "lucky" pocket knife that he insisted that she carry everywhere. She'd called him insane for over a year now at his constant fussing over that three inch blade, but now she could have kissed his handsome face. She cut herself loose, and gave a half-hearted "OUMPH!" when she hit the ceiling of the totaled Tahoe. Reaching up in the vehicle, she cut Jill's seat belt, and then continued to crawl into the backseat. Glass was scraping her arms and digging in past her jeans, the wind outside howling through the busted cab feeling like cold water being doused over her head, but Rebecca just gritted her teeth and continued on, squeezing through the narrow space that separated the front and back of the mangled SUV. Claire lay on the ceiling, clutching weakly to the the baby car seat, unconscious and bleeding from her temple. The seat belt straps hung down uselessly, the twisted metal of the buckle twinkling and flashing red and yellow.

"Are they okay? Get me down from here," Sheva said from above her, making Rebecca jump. "I can help, I don't think I'm hurt."

Handing the knife to Sheva, Rebecca put two shaky fingers to Claire's throat, and was relieved when she found a steady pulse there. Hoping for the best, preparing for the worst, Rebecca slowly and carefully pulled Allie's car seat off Claire, and let out a long sigh to find a frightened, but intact and unharmed one year old. Making quick work of the inner buckles of the car seat, Rebecca soon had Allie out and in Jill's arms. Sheva was down, and together, the trio worked to get Claire out of the back window, trying not to drag her through the worst piles of shattered glass and plastic.

Out in the open, the frigid wind whipped her face painfully, causing Rebecca to shiver and shake. The Tahoe was on fire, but it didn't look like it would be a problem yet. Motioning to Sheva for help, Rebecca stood and grabbed one of Claire's arms, and between the two females, they hauled Claire up and away from the wreckage. Jill had found the remnants of her coat, and had wrapped Allie in it securely, her whole body shaking from the cold around them. Looking back towards the road, Rebecca could see the other vehicle in the ditch opposite them, it's headlights still blazing, despite being wrapped around a tree trunk.

"Look in the back; I always keep blankets in there, strapped down; so they're gonna be topside. See if you can find one of our phones, too; we need to call for help." Rebecca shot out as she jogged through the snowbanks, towards the other vehicle.

Trying to be optimistic, Rebecca was disappointed when she saw the carnage before her; the man behind the wheel had busted through the windshield, and lay half in the vehicle, and half over the hood, his intestines marking the snow-encompassed landscape in front of the little Ford Ranger as they trailed from the dash and down the hood. She always told her residents at the hospital that no matter how long you witnessed this kind of thing, you never really got over the sick feeling deep in your stomach when you see it up close and personal, not if you've seen it a million times.

Saying a silent prayer for the dead man, Rebecca searched through his vehicle for anything that might be useful, and came up with a hunter's winter coat, a flash light, and an emergency kit. Snatching the items up, she spotted a bag in the truck bed, and a quick search of that gave her a set of road flares. Thanking her lucky stars, Rebecca snagged those up, too, and slid back across the road with her payload.

"Are they alright over there?" Sheva asked, having found the blankets and in the process of wrapping Claire with one. Rebecca just shook her head and dumped the items in the snow, tossing the coat to Jill, who chattered a thank you through her teeth. Breaking the seal on the first road flare, Rebecca set it in the snow, and made a semi-circle around the wreck with the rest. She kept one unlit, just in case the four hour flares weren't enough; not that they'd need it after four hours in this shit.

"Did you find a phone?" Rebecca asked, her teeth feeling like mini-jackhammers that she couldn't shut off. Her whole body was aching from the cold, and her fingers felt stiff as she tried to open the field medic kit she'd found in the Ranger. Sheva covered her with a blanket as she knelt down beside Claire, and began to work on the inch long laceration that spanned from her temple into her hairline. The bleeding had stopped, either due to clotting or the sub-zero temperatures; Rebecca suspected a combination of those factors; but the real challenge would be waking Claire up. However long they'd been unaware, trapped in that overturned SUV, Rebecca could only speculate, but every second counted when the temperatures were this low. Hypothermia didn't take long to set in, and without the proper equipment, she couldn't be certain of the extent of Claire's head trauma.

If they couldn't get her awake now, she may never regain consciousness.

"The only phone I found was in five pieces," Sheva reported wearily, her teeth making a loud 'click-click-clack-click!' noise as a breeze picked up.

"We need to get to a house," Jill spoke up this time, and knelt down beside Rebecca to take the flashlight out of Becky's quaking teeth and hold it in her free hand; which proved to be much steadier. Rebecca gingerly pulled out a shard of glass, and finding nothing else lodged inside the gaping wound, she made good time stitching the flesh together.

"I'll go. I'm not hurt, and I could make good time; we passed a house about a mile ago, didn't we? The lights were still on," Sheva said, perking up as she remembered the farm house.

"I don't know..." Rebecca said, frowning as she used gauze tape to secure the 2X2 over the stitched flesh. Her fingers were painfully cold now, and she wished for someone to drive by. "That's a long way, and in weather like this, you could easily get lost. I think it's better if we stay here. The guy's couldn't have been that far behind us, right?"

"Becky's right, Sheva. We need all the body heat we can get, anyway; Claire's not in real good shape. Can we maybe build a fire?" Jill asked, looking around with the flashlight in her hand, cradling Allie to her chest. The baby, while still fussy and whinny, had stopped crying altogether now, and appeared to be the warmest out of the bunch with a coat and blanket covering her.

"Sheva, can you sit Claire up, and sit behind her? Keep her wrapped up tight, and just stay there? Jill, if you could keep close to them, sit with them; I'll give you my blanket. I'm gonna find some wood, and try to get a fire started," Rebecca stood, and handed Sheva her blanket. While she missed the warmth, the prospect of a fire warmed her as nothing else had since she'd come to in the wreckage. Taking the flashlight, and pulling her thin hoodie tighter to herself, Rebecca wandered further into the tree line, stacking branches under her arm and stuffing twigs and moss in her pockets.

When she had all that she could carry, Rebecca came back to the circle, and found everything as she had left it; the burning Tahoe, her friends, the sputtering flares. Dropping her load, she began to kick the snow away from the hard earth, making a circle about six feet in diameter. Rebecca was sweating; something she'd not wanted to do, but the fire was her driving force now, not letting her stop or slow. They needed it, her friends were relying on her. She wouldn't let them down.

She stacked the wood, set the meager kindling, and plucked one of the lit road flares from the snow. It wasn't long until the wood had caught, and once she'd helped Sheva move Claire into the circle, she wandered off back into the woods in search of more branches. Her nose was running, her fingers felt useless, and her toes...well, if she could feel them, she may have minded. Yet, somehow, Rebecca found it in herself to hum a song, and feel cheerful that they were still alive.

Still, after a few minutes, the tune faded from her lips, and a chill feeling that had nothing to do with the driving snow descended upon her. It felt as though something bad was coming over the horizon, and although Rebecca didn't know what it was, she still had enough sense to hurry her task.

It had been a long time since she'd dropped out of the spec ops scene, but Rebecca had always listened to her instincts.

"Something wicked this way comes...." The words fell from her lips before she could think about their meaning, or even their origins. It was like someone was dancing on her grave, and she just couldn't shake that feeling of impending doom. So she hurried back to the fire.


	14. Chapter 13: Leon's Secret

Chapter 13: Leon's Secret

He awoke slowly, to the smell of something burning. The humans that were packed around him hadn't noticed it yet. As he opened his eyes, Wesker had to suppress a smile. He'd won control, however briefly. However, it was not in his best interest to blow his cover yet. Yawning widely, he sat up, wincing at the pain in his neck. Since he'd come to in that tank, Wesker had been privy to all sorts of annoying human feelings and aches, and it was tiresome. Sitting up, and keeping his face carefully blank, he clutched at his cricked neck, rubbing the sore muscles. Chris sat on his right, and smiled at him.

"Hey, Wes. You alright?" Chris asked him, and Wesker gave him a weak smile and nodded. Avoiding his eyes, Wesker looked out the front window, and caught site of smoke rising darkly in the sky, a faint orange glow flickering ahead of them. Something too close to panic rose in his throat; and he cursed inwardly. The humans surrounding him wouldn't be able to pick that up yet. Not the inky smoke, and certainly not the dim light in the trees ahead of them.

"What's that?" He asked, squinting in the direction of the overturned vehicle. His near preternatural senses picked up that there were actually two vehicles, a mess of flares, and a group huddled around a small fire, but he had to maintain...The virus was taking hold in this body; he could feel it.

"I don't see anything..." Carlos said, and at the words, Barry's eyes darted back and forth across the deserted road.

"It's further up the road, looks like somethings on fire," Leon said in his calm monotone, and Wesker had to resist the urge to whip his head around at the agent. There was no way a human would have seen that, not just yet. There was something strange about this guy; there was no way he was all human. He moved wrong. The scientist in him was intrigued; he'd have to watch Leon a bit closer from now on. It was possible, mainly because of Leon's repeated exposure to various B.O.W.'s, that the man could be infected with some strain of virus, some dormant form.

"I think I see it, on the left, way up there," Barry said, the vehicle slowing. It was snowing hard now, and Wesker's heart jumped when he saw the people huddled around the fire. Chris had his window down a bit to let out his cigarette smoke, and as the breeze shifted, Wesker picked up the distinct odor of blood. His eyes strained to find Claire amidst the crowd of three, searched desperately for his daughter. He let out a small sigh of relief when he saw Jill holding Allison, but he still couldn't see where Claire was.

"That's Rebecca's Tahoe!" Carlos' voice sounded worried, and everyone in the vehicle tensed visibly. A little pickup was tangled around a tree on the right side of the road, the driver in half across the hood; blood and intestines were quickly being covered by the falling snowflakes. Before Barry had the SUV stopped totally, Leon, Chris and himself were out into the snow, Carlos darting out seconds behind; all of the men heedless of the weather.

Wesker's mind was screaming, something close to terror lodged in his throat as he slid into the ditch. Claire was there, pale and unconscious, but breathing. Leon was already scooping her up into his arms, brushing her hair out of her face; and Wesker bit back the anger as it rose to the surface. Chris led Jill and Sheva back to Barry's Bronco, Allison clutched securely in Jill's arms. The child looked unharmed. Still, he had to resist the urge to snatch her out of Jill's grasp...His cover would be blown to shit if he did that.

Barry had his cell phone in hand, and as the operator answered the phone, Wesker winced as he heard her say, "911, what is your emergency?" He stood out in the cold, the snow pounding his face; shivering, he still said nothing. Everyone was ignoring his presence, too preoccupied with the story that Rebecca was spewing; something about a deer. He didn't pay it any mind; Rebecca had always been grating to the nerves. Jill gestured to him, smiling from the back of the Bronco. He chanced a quick glance to Chris, who was preoccupied with his sister, before stepping towards Jill.

As he climbed into the back and got settled, Jill handed Allison to him, that smile still curving her lips upward. He could have kissed her; this was what he'd waited for. The child was heavy in his arms, awkward there, but he adored her instantly. She had her mother's face, and his coloring, eyes the color of sapphires, hair almost as pale as the snow and curling at the ends. Perfect...just so perfect. He felt tears mist his vision, but he didn't really care about being 'macho' right now.

"Allison..." Wesker breathed, the name like a prayer on his lips. He smiled at Jill, a look of thanks on his face. Right now, he didn't mind being human, not as his daughter gazed up at him, her little fingers grabbing his face, a smile beginning on her Cupid's bow lips. She began babbling nonsense he couldn't understand, but it didn't matter what she said. Allison was his child, and she seemed to approve of him. A tear spilled onto his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly. She looked like a cherub, a little angel...and Wesker kissed her forehead lightly, petted her hair softly, and held his baby girl; feeling love and pride swelling in his chest.

"Thank you," Wesker whispered, flashing a genuine smile at Jill. She merely nodded. It was then that he felt other eyes on him, and he looked up to see Chris watching him, iced steel, a look of concern crunching his brow. He let another tear spill down his cheek, and smiled at his former subordinate. Chris' lips twisted slightly, and he seemed to relax a bit. Wesker didn't care right now. This moment was perfect...well, almost perfect.

He looked at Claire, her face pale and peaceful, and he wished she could be awake now, to see him with their girl; he could imagine her eyes filling with tears, could almost feel the warmth of her smile.

"Is she going to be alright?" Wesker asked, directing the question to Chris.

"Becky said she took a knock to the head, but she should be okay," Chris answered, that same look of concern flashing across his face momentarily. Leon seemed to notice him, and when he saw Allison in his arms, Wesker noticed the agent stiffen up, his back going rigid. Wesker met his cool gray stare, and narrowed his eyes slightly. Hatred and anger, familiar and yet more intense than any other before, welled up inside of him; he had the sudden urge to tear out the agent's throat, pluck out his eyes, smash his face in...Wesker breathed deeply, and returned his gaze to Allison.

Leon's eyes continued to prickle his senses; he could feel the enmity of that look, the pure loathing the agent had towards him. So he was jealous...Which meant that Claire hadn't forgotten him.

"I called an ambulance, and they're sending a black and white here with it," Barry said as he poked his giant bearded face inside the cab of the Bronco. At the sound of his voice, Claire moaned and grumbled something, and all eyes fell to her. Leon shushed her, caressing the side of her face gently. Wesker watched, jealousy coursing through his veins white hot like lightning; and he felt anger shaking his form. Wesker frowned, his mouth shut into a thin line, focusing on keeping his cool. Being human was full of emotions and urges...he definitely couldn't wait much longer for the virus; if he didn't die soon, he'd probably become belligerent and kill Leon.

"Allie....Where's Allie?" Claire rasped out, her face a mask of pain as she tried to sit up.

"She's safe, babe. Allie's okay. You need to rest," Leon whispered to her, his hand holding her shoulder down lightly. Claire ignored it, and shoved away from him, her breathing frantic as her eyes searched for the child. Wesker leaned over the seat, holding Allison so that Claire could see them both; and she sighed the instant her eyes met his.

He wanted to take Claire into his arms and hold her forever at that moment. Nothing else in his life had ever mattered so much. If only he could erase the mistakes he'd made.

But the past was behind them now; all water under the bridge. He'd always learned from his mistakes, and never repeated one. He'd never leave her again; not for anything...World domination be damned! Holding his daughter in his arms, Wesker had realized that family was what he'd been searching for all his life; somewhere to belong. Humans, though frail and weak, could love. Love was a power all it's own; and Wesker kissed Allison's cheek lightly.

"What happened to you?" Rebecca asked as she slid in from the back hatch, and it took a minute before Wesker realized that she was talking to him. Turning fully towards her, she gasped and shuddered. "Your eyes...you're mutating, aren't you? That's what the seizure was about. You're infected, and the virus is changing you."

"I suspect that you're right, Miss Chambers," Wesker said, before he caught his mistake. Wes had been introduced to Rebecca....but only by her first name, not her last. The last shreds of his hope died as horror slowly registered on her small heart-shaped face, and Rebecca gasped. So his cover was blown...

"You're not Wes..." Rebecca whispered. "You're...Wesker! Chris!" Rebecca's eyes were wild with terror as she scrambled over the seat and away from him. "Chris, do something!" Confusion was on the faces of all; except for one face. Leon's gaze remained stoic and calculating, as if he'd been suspecting the outcome all along.

Now wary and alert, Chris pulled his sidearm and kept it loosely at his side. Sighing, Wesker handed Allison to a flabbergasted Jill, and stepped over the back seat and out into the cold winter landscape.

"Yes, Miss Chambers. Your deduction is correct; well, almost. I'm the result of Project Phoenix," He said to the assembly as they all backed slowly away from him. Now Barry and Carlos had their weapons drawn, and Sheva was propping Claire up. "Project Phoenix was my failsafe, if you will. A back up, should my plans with Uroboros go awry. My predecessor commissioned the making of his own clone. As soon as he died, a device within his body started up the mainframe computer to begin downloading his memories and experiences into me, his clone.

"I am, for all intents and purposes, Albert Wesker. Claire's DNA proved to be a wonderful addition to my own; I will never need to inject myself with PG67/A/W to maintain a balance between the virus and my own genetic structure." Wesker said, tilting his head to Christopher. "Any questions?"

"So Wes was just a ruse? To what end?" Chris asked, and Wesker laughed then.

"No, Wes was an annoyance. An unexpected side effect of the original programming. Humans are so weak...This body, while new and designed to function without flaws, has developed a form of multiple personality disorder. Wes was my body's way of coping with the download. If you remember, Christopher, in my former life I was far from a saint. Some would liken me more to Satan himself."

"So you had to wait until you could regain control. What do you plan to do now?" This time Leon spoke, and Wesker turned his head to meet his gray gaze.

"I had planned on spending more time with my daughter...and her mother. But I suppose that since my cover is quite completely blown, and none of you trust me, I shall not get the chance unless I do it by force. So what options do I have? You all seem intent on killing me, and I don't have much else to do but defend myself and my own." Wesker smirked then, and reached his hand outward, palm up. "Claire...will you come peaceably? I don't want to fight with your brother and his friends, not here and now, but I will have you, dear heart, and Allison. I have a right to my family."

"I..." Claire began, but Leon interrupted.

"No." With that one syllable, he lunged at Wesker, his gun forgotten in the icy road. Wesker let out a short barking laugh as Leon's form slammed into his, knocking his back into the side of the Bronco. Straining against Leon's grip, Wesker head butted the agent, sending him back a few paces; but Leon recovered quickly and came at him again.

This time, Wesker was ready for him, and gave the charging man a vicious uppercut, followed by a kidney shot. The men were brawling now, Claire screaming in the background. Leon jabbed Wesker in the temple with his elbow, and as the former tyrant staggered backwards, the agent kicked out at his chest. The blow was tremendous, and sent the air whooshing out of his lungs in a rush. Gritting his teeth, Wesker squared off, his fists clamped as he took a boxer's stance.

Leon gave him a small twist of his lips, before he too settled his lean and muscular body into the easy form of a boxer. The pair circled each other, a kind of aggressive dance as they each searched for their opponent's weakness; until Wesker saw Leon's foot slide slightly on a patch of ice. He nearly pounced on his current advisary, swinging his left fist at Leon's ribs and then connecting a blow with his right to Leon's jaw. The younger man barely flinched, his eyes thin slits of hatred burning out at Wesker as he once again caught his footing and returned the punch to the face with a left hook. The force of the blow sent Wesker staggering back a step, and then Leon was swinging wildly at him, his fists connecting with Wesker's arms and sides.

Biting back the pain, Wesker used Leon's proximity to his advantage; dodging down and sideways, he jabbed the younger man's ribcage and then immediately followed his fist with his shoulder. Leon slid to the ground as his feet found no hold on the iced roadway and as he tried to regain his footing, Wesker dropped to his knees and began to pound at the agent's face. Blood flew as Wesker's fist landed on Leon's eye, and it was then that the agent brought his legs up and kicked at Wesker's chest.

The unexpected blow to his sternum once again left Wesker breathless, and Leon took the opportunity to grab his arm and twist it behind him. Slightly still winded, Wesker tried to throw Leon off his back, but the agent had his feet wide spread; the perfect brace against Wesker's limited movements. Unperturbed, Wesker changed tactics and threw all of his weight forward. It worked, and as Leon stumbled, Wesker wretched his wrist free, and used his body to cover Leon's, pinning the agent's arms beneath his knees.

"You can beat me, Leon...I'm only human, after all," Wesker taunted as he rained blows on Leon's unprotected face. "Show them what you are! Let them see how strong you are! I know what you are, Leon, I know what you are!"

At that, Leon bucked Wesker off of his perch on his chest, and as Wesker saw the snowy pavement rushing at his face, he was suddenly yanked backwards and thrown into the side of the Bronco again with bruising force. Stars dotted his vision as he felt his ribs crack from the impact, pain crashing in on him as Leon began pummeling his exposed face.

And as soon as it had begun, it was over. Chris and Barry were pulling Leon away from him, the two straining against the pure rage that propelled Leon towards Wesker. Through the blood clouding his vision, Wesker could see Leon's eyes, two burning amber orbs spewing hate at him. The agent had lost his cool, and it was just as Wesker had suspected earlier; Leon was infected with some strain of the T-Virus.

Laughing, Wesker stood on wobbly legs, leaning heavily against the SUV.

"You are just like me, Leon. Claire sure does have an eye for the infected," Wesker spat, and he felt blood leaking out from the corner of his mouth as he wheezed. His strength was failing him, and pain was his world. He ignored it as he continued. "You're the fraud here! Pretending to be something you're not. Why not embrace it? Why not revel in the power, enjoy the strength and speed? You are superior, better than the humans surrounding you! You're squandering your gifts!"

"Let me kill the sonuvabitch! I want to rip his fucking head off! Let me go!" Leon yelled out, wrenching his arm free from Chris' grip, and sending Barry stumbling. It was painfully obvious that he was holding back; even as angry as he was now, he still had amazing restraint when it came to his human companions.

"Look at his eyes, Chris. Tell me that you don't see what I do," Wesker challenged, his breathing hard and labored. He was going to lose consciousness soon, but he wanted these humans to see Leon for what he was: A monster capable of the same cruelty and evil that Wesker himself had unleashed upon those around him. "Tell me what you see."

Chris hesitated, and then stepped boldly in front of Leon. Being the larger of the two, Chris' hulking form totally blocked out Leon, and yet Wesker smiled when he heard his long-ago point man inhale sharply.

"His eyes...they're like Wesker's," Chris said weakly, in disbelief. Wesker smirked, his eyes full of triumph as he slid to the ground ungracefully. He was growing increasingly cold, and he could feel blood trickling down his neck and along his chest; too much blood to be healthy. Soon, a comforting numbness settled into his limbs, and he fought against his eyelids as they continued to droop, only to lose the battle. Wesker was breathing shallowly now, a sharp pain throbbing in his temple...he'd felt this before.

Wesker was dying.

He smiled faintly before succumbing to the cold darkness that had become his existence.

Author's Note: Okay, I must extend my sincerest apologies to those whom have been following this story; but it is deer season! Whitetail deer are my obsession; not much else penetrates my senses from October to January every year. You all should feel very fortunate that I found the time to work on this DURING season, with no buck yet filling my freezer (my lil bro did manage to get a monster 12 point, though, and I can say that while I'm proud, this also makes me a little more insane in my quest for the next big guy to walk in my sights), it's an absolute wonder that I managed to focus on anything but hunting.

So, I hope you have enjoyed these few chapters that I took the time to write; and I'll see you all again in January, when I emerge from the wilderness bleary eyed and haggard; and after a week sleeping in my much missed bed, I'll continue what I began so long ago.

The Eskimo 1986


	15. Chapter 14: ResurrectionandLiquidCourage

Chapter 14: Resurrection and Liquid Courage

Wesker awoke slowly to total darkness. It was cold, the bone chilling kind of cold that made your very teeth feel like ice cubes in your mouth and your joints ache like they'd been broken. Steel walls pressed in around him, and he shivered in the dark as he reached a trembling hand out to touch the ceiling of his tiny coffin-like cell. The sharp scent of ammonia and cleaning chemicals stung his nose, the faint yet lingering taint of various stages of decay and rot underlining the aromas around him. He was in a morgue, in the wall among the corpses that were housed here.

Holding his breath, he listened intently for any sign of life on the opposite side of the metal door. The seconds ticked by like hours, and as he kept his ears tuned to the room, he fought to keep his teeth from chattering. The cold was hard to shake off; the last time he'd died and come back to life, it had taken three days before he recovered the feeling in his toes and fingertips. Wesker knew he'd be slow and sluggish for the next half-hour or so...but being confined in the cramped, frigid metal box wasn't a thought that he could bare for a much longer. Deciding that the room beyond was empty; Wesker reached up and tested the metal of the door, before slamming his fist into it. It screeched and the sound was tremendous as it reverberated in the tight space, making his eardrums twinge with what may have been pain...It was hard to tell. The shroud of death still hung heavily about his senses.

Another hit and the door flew away, and the harsh florescent light poured in the opening, blinding his sensitive eyes momentarily. He rolled the slab he was on out into the brightness, and was out and on his wobbly feet. It was then that he noticed that he was totally nude; and although his nudity had never bothered him; he knew that he'd create a ruckus if he hit the streets as is. He'd have to find some clothing.

As he was walking out of the room, he caught his reflection in the mirror and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw surgical sutures in a Y pattern across his chest and down his stomach. Wesker shuddered, thanking his luck that he hadn't come to whilst under the knife. He saw a small metal table with various tools on it, and picked out a scalpel.

Using the mirror and the blade, he soon had picked out all of the carefully placed stitches, dropping them on the floor as he watched each small hole close up. His scientist's mind was astounded at how fast he was healing. However, his thoughts were interrupted as Wesker's ears picked up the distinct sound of footsteps against linoleum; and he tensed as they slowed outside of the morgue's door. The clink of a key against the lock sent him into action, and he flattened himself against the wall next to the door. As it swung inward, a man in a long white lab coat and khaki slacks walked into the room; Wesker hesitated only a second before knocking the young man out. Although the man was a bit taller than him, Wesker undressed the unconscious doctor, and dressed himself hurriedly, before slipping out into the bright hallway.

It was a hospital. The sign next to the elevator said he was in the basement level; and he hit the up button and waited patiently on unsteady legs. He felt groggy still; and although he knew that it was just the lingering traces of his rigor the feeling was still unsettling. Wesker had to find a pair of sunglasses soon, too. There were only so many ways to avoid eye contact, and he had no idea what time it was or how crowded the hospital's first floor would be. When the elevator doors finally opened in front of him, he stepped into it, thankful that no one else was aboard.

The ride was a short one, but Wesker was prepared for anything as the doors slid out of sight. The large room was deserted. A giant gold gilded clock gave him the time. Two twenty-eight AM. He looked left, and saw a long hallway, a receptionist's desk with no receptionist, and to his right a fire escape door.

Discretion was the better part of valor, after all, he thought ruefully. Ducking quickly through the door on his right, he was blasted by a cold breeze from somewhere below him; just what he'd been dreading. He was cold enough as is from his death; the last thing on earth he wanted was to walk into the snow and ice that Michigan would be this time of year.

Keeping a low profile, Wesker continued downward, and soon came to a door that said "EXIT" above it. Beyond the door was a parking garage; and he wished that he'd taken a coat from someone else in the building; the lab coat was nothing to the pure blizzard conditions that prevented him from seeing outside the wide parking lot. Only a few cars were in the parking garage, spaced out erratically. On a whim, Wesker reached into his stolen pants' pockets, and then checked the lab coat; and came up with a set of car keys. Mercedes Benz. He pressed down the button, and heard the corresponding beep to his left and he had to contain his excitement when he saw the tail lights flashing on the black 2010 SLK55 Mercedes Benz.

Wesker climbed into the driver's seat, and then was off into the night. He had much to do, and little time to do it; His family was waiting for him.

Leon sat alone in at the bar. His so-called friends had helped him cover up Wesker's death by moving the body and making it appear as though he was a casualty of the wreck, but as soon as they'd all gotten back to Rebecca's house no one had seemed to be able to look him in the eyes. Annoyed and hurt, he'd mumbled something about needing air and had left before someone could ask him any questions.

It wasn't his fault he'd been infected. Hell, it'd been so long since Raccoon City, that Leon oftentimes forgot the 'handicap' he'd picked up there. Taking another gulp of his Bud Light and then following it with another shot of Jack Daniels, he grimaced as the liquid burned his throat. Leon knew that he had to drink a lot, quickly; or else he wouldn't really get drunk. Another annoying side effect of his infection.

Oh, his superiors knew what he was; hell, they even embraced it. It was why Leon had been sent solo on so many missions. He was what some joked "overqualified". Downing his beer in the next swig, Leon gestured to the bartender for another round.

"You should slow down, buddy. That's your fifth beer, and seventh shot; legally, I shouldn't be giving you this much booze in less than an hour. But hell, you don't even look drunk yet," the bartender said, his voice amiable and deep. Leon smirked at the old man.

"Could I just get two pitchers and a fifth? That way, you don't get in trouble and I can get hammered. Deal?" Leon asked, and the bartender shook his head in disbelief, but complied without another word. "And, if you don't mind, I'd like a pack of Marlboros, too. I quit years ago, but I think after today's shenanigans, I deserve a pack."

As the bartender sat down his order, Leon snatched up the cigarettes and opened the pack swiftly. The first draw was amazing; like heaven in his lungs. Forsaking his shot glass, he tipped his newly acquired fifth of Jack to his lips, and took a few deep draughts. Country music blared out around him as a pack of girls tittered at the jukebox, and a few old and grizzly-looking guys racked another round of pool. No one bothered him, which was good. He wanted to forget the past few days, and any interruptions would be unwelcome to say the least. The back door swung open and ushered in more patrons, strangers who barely gave him a fleeting glance. He looked at the clock over the register and wasn't surprised to see that it was half past midnight.

Sighing, he withdrew his cell phone and dialed Chris' number. After two rings, he heard Chris say a bleary, "Hello?" Leon felt a pang of guilt.

"Hey, Chris. It's Leon. I'm just calling to let you know that I didn't die, and I'm probably not coming back to Rebecca's," he said.

"Where are you? Claire's been worried, and I've got to say that I have been, too. We definitely need to talk to you; I think you owe us an explanation for what went down earlier," Chris said, sounding wide awake now. Leon was regretting making the call.

"I'm at…hey, what bar is this?" Leon held the phone away from his ear and shot the question out at the bartender.

"Twilliger's Tavern," the old man shouted out above the hectic din, smiling at Leon. The gray old man probably thought that Leon was pretty wasted, when in fact; all he was feeling from the alcohol was a slight buzz.

"Twilliger's Tavern. I didn't go far, but I wanted something to drink," Leon paused for a moment, and then brightened a bit. "You guys want to join me? I'll buy."

"On our way," Chris said.

"See you in a few minutes then," Leon hit the end button on his phone, and pocketed it. He wasn't looking forward to the coming conversation; but Chris was right. He did owe them. Tipping the bottle of Jack against his lips, Leon gulped down to the halfway mark, and then finished a beer for a chaser. Liquid courage…

Author's note: IN YOUR REVIEWS, CHOOSE WHO WILL CLAIM CLAIRE! WESKER, OR LEON? YOU DECIDE. YOU HAVE UNTIL JANUARY 31ST: I'VE GOT A BUSY SCHEDULE THIS MONTH, SO I'LL COUNT THEM UP BY THEN, AND FINISH DEPENDING ON HOW MANY VOTES EACH PERSON GETS. I LEAVE THE DECISION IN YOUR HANDS!


	16. Chapter 15: Goodbye is Hard to Do

Chapter 15: Goodbye is Hard to Do

She was practically running along the snowy sidewalk, frustrated by her brother's slow pace. Stopping and waiting for the fifth time, Claire couldn't keep her foot from tapping the cold cement impatiently. Chris snorted at her as he fell in beside her, and she snickered at the cloud burst that it produced in the chilled air. He rolled his eyes at her, and gave her a smirk, before they continued on. Ahead, Claire saw the small swinging sign hanging above the door of the bar, announcing it as Twilliger's Tavern. She laughed at the little leprechaun holding a beer on the sign, and Chris opened the door for her and waited as she passed through the threshold. Her eyes immediately fell on Leon, sitting alone at the bar; which was odd, considering the crowd in the smoky room...Upon closer inspection, she supposed that Leon didn't particularly look very welcoming.

A pitcher of beer was half gone in front of him, a second one tipped upside down and empty, and he was drinking straight from a fifth of Jack Daniels; which was more than half gone. His shaggy blonde hair shaded his face as he sat the bottle down, and he had his shoulders hunched forward; Leon's clothes had a few blood stains on them and he honestly looked like hell warmed over. Claire's emotions were in turmoil as she looked upon him; the urge to run to him and hold him fought with the anger and hurt of his long-kept secret.

The first feeling won out, however, and Claire made a bee-line to where Leon sat. Although he didn't look when she took the stool next to him, he offered her a cigarette, which she took. It had been a long time since she'd smoked; having Allison had really been life-changing for Claire in more than the obvious ways.

"You've brought friends, I see. What can I get for yous two?" The old bartender asked, his voice cheerful as he produced a lighter out of nowhere to light Claire's smoke. Drawing in, Claire sighed contentedly; god, sometimes she really missed the simple pleasure of smoking!

"You got any Pabst Blue Ribbon?" Chris asked, and the bartender gave him a toothy grin.

"'Course I do. You don't mind a bottle, do ya? I don't have it on tap anymore, not that many people 'round here drink it but a couple of older-than-dirt regs." Without waiting for an answer, the man reached down and produced a bottle of PBR and popped the top effortlessly.

"Thanks. I'm Chris, by the way," Chris offered his hand to the bartender, who took it and gave it a hearty shake.

"Waylon's my handle," directing his kind brown eyes towards Claire, he smiled and asked, "And what would be this lovely young lady's name? Your girlfriend sure is quite the looker, friend. If only I were a day younger."

Leon chuckled, and Chris' face went slightly red at the suggestion.

"That's my kid sister," Chris said simply.

"Oh! No disrespect to you, or the lady. Now that you mention it, I do kinda see the resemblance. You've got the same eyes, same nose." Waylon looked at Claire, and asked politely, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Claire. It's nice to meet you, Waylon," She answered, a small smile curving her lips. Claire really liked the old man; it was hard not to.

"The pleasure is all mine, dear. What can I get for you?" Waylon asked, winking.

"Tequila sunrise, if you've got it," Claire said, and then the old bartender grinned widely.

"Coming right up, darling." The old man walked down the length of the bar and mixed the drink with lightning speed. "There you go. Did you want to open up a tab?"

"Just add whatever they have to mine. I got the money to blow, and we'll probably help you close up shop tonight if I get my way," Leon spoke up, and then added, "And if you don't mind, could I get another fifth?"

"You sure you can handle all that alcohol? You're not driving, right?" Waylon looked a little worried.

"No. Walking distance; we're staying with a friend who lives a few blocks up the road," Leon promised. Shaking his head, Waylon dug out another fifth of JD, and sat it in front of Leon, who promptly finished his first fifth, and opened the cap up on the other one to take a healthy swallow.

"You guys watch him close, if he needs an ambulance, you'd best holler at me, alright? He's had way too much as is. Ain't never seen a man hold his liquor so well in all my years. I'd have been puking my guts up by now," Waylon said, a frown passing over his features quickly, before he looked off into the murky atmosphere, and then giving them all a brief smile, he said, "Excuse me, looks like I'm needed elsewhere for a moment."

As Waylon left to go tend to his other patrons, Chris sat at on the opposite side of Leon, a Redfield flanking either side of him. Taking a huge swallow of his beer, Chris pulled out his own pack of cigarettes and lit one quickly with his Zippo. The trio sat in silence for a few minutes, each person nursing their drink and waiting for someone else to start.

At last, Leon sighed, and began.

"It happened in Raccoon City. When I was shot in the shoulder by Annette Burkin, I lost consciousness; it was the only time I could have contracted the T-Virus, the only time I was injured. For a while, I didn't know; almost a year went by without any symptoms whatsoever.

"I enrolled in military training, and excelled. At first, I honestly thought it was because of my training. Really, I didn't know.

"I got selected for the special operations section of the CIA, and they ran a physical; standard procedure. That's when they found it. I kept it a secret because I was told that if anyone outside of my superiors, I'd be dropped from the program. My body had somehow molded the virus into something else. I was stronger, faster, more efficient than the other agents.

"They would have cut me if I'd shown any less progress, but they doctored my results so that I could continue. I was 'a valuable asset' to them. After I was sent on my first few missions, I got transferred numerous times; and the pay was hellishly good. I kept my mouth shut about my handicap. I was a good soldier, fighting the good fight; making a difference! This went on for years; and then I got the job at presidential security...what I thought was going to be a nice, cushy job. And then I went to Spain. That fiasco...the bastards sent me in alone! Even with my infection, I barely made it out alive. For a while after I got back, I was mad. Almost quit my job, nearly walked away from it all.

"The only thing that stopped me was the pay raise...I've got a house, you know." Leon paused, looking at Claire with huge eyes. "You've never come to visit me in DC. It's huge, with an indoor pool, a billiards room with a fully stocked bar; some Canadian women clean it for me every week." Leon was quite obviously drunk, and Claire smiled at him. She remembered what Wesker had said about what liquor did to him: Jack and Shit, unless it was in large quantities.

"It's been almost eleven years; how did you keep something that big from me? Why?" Claire asked, sipping her drink. She took his pack of cigarettes, and drew out another one. Chris lit it for her before she could even ask, and she nodded her thanks. Returning her gaze to his face, Claire waited for the answer.

"I didn't want you to leave. I didn't want to lose you, Claire. You can't honestly say that knowing what I am isn't going to change everything. It already has; your brother isn't here for moral support. Becky hasn't spoken a word to me, Barry and Carlos are avoiding me as if I were infected with the bird flu; No one wants to be around me. Now that everyone knows, I'm all alone." Leon's fingers found an empty shot glass beside his overturned pitcher, and poured some Jack into it. "Here, Chris. I'm going to share this bottle. I think I'm pretty drunk now, so, bottoms up, buddy!"

Chris took the glass, and drank it down as Leon took a few gulps from his bottle.

"Leon..." Claire said, annoyed by his sudden avoidance. He was ducking her question.

"I won't hate you if you leave me. I'll understand. I didn't tell you for my own selfish reasons and it was wrong and just as bad as lying. The only thing I can say is that I'm sorry, Claire. I wish I'd told you before, I wish it hadn't come out the way it did. I'm sorry that I killed Wesker," Leon said, not looking at her. His voice sounded so sad, though, and some of her anger dissipated.

"I understand what you're saying, Leon. I get it; why you didn't tell anyone. I just thought that we were friends, and friends love each other no matter what. Your lack of faith in me hurts the most. If you had told me before, I would have forgiven you," Claire stopped talking, and turned her attention to her drink.

After a few moments, Leon asked, "And now?" She took a long swallow.

"Now I don't think I can. You had so much time to do the right thing. How can I trust you? I don't care that you're infected; hell, Leon, I found out I'm infected just yesterday! You think I kept that from anyone? My brother knows, you do, everyone I know and trust with the information already knows! I just am so fucking hurt that you didn't trust me enough and didn't love me enough to tell me! It makes me wonder what else you've been keeping from me. Want to confess anything else?" Claire challenged him, her anger winning out.

"Sure, since you're leaving me anyway. I don't like your cat, and your taco surprise sucks. Yes, Claire, I've lied to you so many times; I just can't be trusted!" Leon said, jolting to his feet angrily. "One thing that's good about this whole fucking situation? At least I didn't have that much invested in you!" A few people were staring, and as Leon shot them a glance, they quickly looked away. "I love you, Claire! But I won't let you do this to me. If you're going to shove me away from you, at least have the decency to do it cleanly! Just tell me you don't want me anymore! Tell me to go fuck myself, yell, scream; just don't draw it out like this! I fucked up, okay! I know it, you know; so just get it the fuck over with!"

"Didn't have much _invested_ in me? What the hell does that mean?" Claire shot to her feet, and stood toe to toe with Leon, glaring up at him. She felt something being pressed up against her chest, and looking down she was shocked to see a small velvet box clutched in his fingers.

"I've been holding onto this for months," His tone was low, the anger in his voice slipping back into a devastating sadness. "I was waiting to give it to you; I wanted to ask your brother's permission first. I only dropped six digits on it; chump change. I don't want it anymore, now that it doesn't mean anything to you. It's yours, anyway. Call it a parting gift." With those words he dropped it into her hand, slammed down a few hundred dollar bills on the bar, and walked swiftly towards the exit. As the door swallowed his form, Claire stared at the small object in her hand, trembling.

She opened the box slowly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the ring it contained; a beautiful red diamond surrounded by white diamonds, the band diamond-ringed white gold; perhaps even platinum. Tears rimmed her eyes as she realized what this ring was. Leon had been going to ask her to marry him. He loved her, and she'd thrown it in his face one two many times; and now she didn't know if there was time to fix it. Claire rushed out of the crowded bar onto the snowy sidewalk and looked all around, her eyes searching for his familiar figure.

The streets were deserted, barren and cold. Claire felt dizzy all of a sudden, and then she was on her knees in a heap, crying bitterly by herself as she clutched the small box to her chest. He'd left her again; and this time Claire had the feeling that she'd never see him after this. A hand lay gently on her shoulder, and then she was in her brother's arms sobbing uncontrollably. Chris held her, murmuring soothingly, "It'll be alright, Claire-bear", like he had when their parents had died.

Leon watched as Claire sobbed in her brother's arms from the roof of the bar, his heart aching. Why did life have to be so unfair? He'd never asked for any of this to happen to him! Why couldn't she love him the way he loved her?

Perhaps Wesker had been right, when he'd said that humans and their emotions were a weakness. It certainly would hurt a lot less if he didn't love her. The only problem was that he _did_ and her constant rejection cut him as nothing else ever had. Leon wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to stop how he felt about her. He waited patiently as Chris slowly led Claire back in the direction of Rebecca's house, before jumping down to the pavement. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he dialed information, and got a number to a cab service out of Lansing.

Hanging up the phone after contacting a ride, Leon stood on the lonely street, feeling cold and depressed. He'd just let the best thing that had ever happened to him walk away, and he'd been the one who'd pushed her! Leon had been ready to marry her only hours before. His heart felt as if it were bleeding in his chest, and as he paced outside of the bar smoking a cigarette Leon knew that he'd never find happiness like he had with Claire Redfield.

Yet, what did she expect from him? Ever since he'd met Claire, he'd been head over heels for her. Leon had been offered a job, one with spectacular pay. He'd always dreamed of having a wife and kids someday; this job had been his opportunity to save up and plan for his future. Claire had been a big part of that future for a long time now. When he'd walked out of that bar, he'd destroyed his dreams and hopes. Nothing would heal him.

As for Claire, he hoped that she'd be alright. It had killed him to watch her sobbing below him, holding onto her would-be engagement ring; knowing that she loved him. It just wasn't enough for her; nothing he did was ever enough. Even to a clone, he'd never been anything more to Claire than second best. And that stung. He'd given her his whole heart, and all he got in return was heartache and grief, time and again.

Leon knew this much; distance would be best....


	17. Chapter 16: All Roads Lead to Home

Chapter 16

Wesker drove down a back country road, paying no heed to the icy conditions outside or to how fast he was going. The last time he'd looked down at his speed, the small gage had read only sixty seven. The SLK55 drove smoothly across the dirt road, handling beautifully as he rounded around a near ninety degree curve; and pushing the gas pedal down he coaxed the sports car into a full out drift around the slick bend. Straightening the wheel again, his mind refined a plan.

Laingsburg, Michigan was a tiny little blip on the portable navigation device mounted on the dashboard, maybe 16 more miles if he went the route the computer was trying to get him on. However, the Progenitor virus ran through his blood now; and a cursory glance at the map had produced a quicker, albeit unorthodox, path. So now he was barreling along dirt roads and two-tracks, in a much straighter line; he'd only have perhaps 13.5 miles to go as opposed to 27...nearly cutting his driving time in half.

As his headlights cut through the dark and foreboding winter landscape, Wesker thoughts were on the look Leon had given him before the young tyrant had killed him. Wesker had inflicted enough of the emotion on so many victims in the past that he could recognize it in their eyes; Terror. He'd been terrified, for what reason Wesker could only speculate on.

Slowing only enough to make the sharp corner at a three-way intersection, the car skidded slightly into the ditch, but found traction on the ice-splotched pavement before he could be drug into the embankment by the snow.

There was only one thing that Wesker cared about right now: Claire Redfield. His plan was simple, nearly infallible. Finding Rebecca's house would be the first obstacle that he'd have to surmount. Yet, that wasn't the biggest challenge he'd face tonight. How did he get to Claire and his daughter? How would he convince her that he was willing to give up his life's work for something infinitely more valuable. Would she believe him?

Doubts shadowed his mood, and he felt his brows pressing together in a scowl of frustration. He could hardly believe himself; what made Wesker think that Claire would do any more? She'd been separated from him for a year, had a new relationship with what he knew was her best friend, and although he suspected that she still harbored feelings for the old Wesker, he was uncertain that she could look past the fact that he was a clone and not the original.

Then there was Christopher to contend with. He'd never stand to let his sister go with him. It wouldn't take her brother long to realize that he wouldn't fight with him; Wesker's hands would be tied, a complete catch 22. Claire would never forgive him if he stormed in guns blazing, so to speak. Having never had much patience, Wesker had no idea how he was going to explain his feelings when the concept of emotion was still so new to him. Not to mention that Christopher and him had shared a dark and twisted connection, a raw and undeniable hatred of one another that had bound their destinies so tightly together over the past years, that it was going to be almost impossible to persuade him otherwise.

His plan, though. Upon locating Rebecca's residence, he would discern from surveillance if Claire and Allison were within the dwelling. Assuming that they were, Wesker then would simply knock upon the front door; each and every last person there had seen him die. The initial shock and confusion would give him the opportunity to plead his case. He hoped.

Wesker frowned at another possible complication to his plan: Leon. What if Leon opened the door? The surprise wouldn't effect him as much; he may even be prepared for Wesker's arrival, perhaps even anticipating his resurrection. He'd just have to subdue the other tyrant and hope that he could choke out a quick explanation before too much pandemonium broke out.

But what exactly would he say? Wesker had been puzzling over what he could say to Claire. Since he'd awoken in the tank, she had been his only thought, his driving force. Leon's reactions had told him that she still cared about him and it was then that the terror he'd glimpsed in the young man's eyes suddenly became clear. Claire still loved him. He wasn't sure what the relationship between Leon and Claire was, but he doubted that it could hold a candle to what they had shared; especially if the prospect of a mere clone was enough to terrify the young man.

Smiling suddenly as he passed the "Welcome to Laingsburg: Where the City Meets the Country" sign, Wesker slowed the SLK55 down to the twenty-five mph that a speed sign had decreed. He'd find Claire and his daughter soon.

Chris was just drifting off to sleep on the living room floor, comfortable in the soft blankets and pillows spread out beneath him when he heard the light rapping on the door. Before he had a chance to even _think_ about getting up, Claire appeared from the dark hallway and was rushing for the sturdy wooden door. Frowning at her enthusiasm, he none the less ignored it. Kennedy was going to get a good beating the next time that Chris saw him, but taking his sister's feelings into consideration he was more than willing to let the bastard have half of a chance. He heard Claire gasp, saw as she looked at him, and then he smiled as she slipped on his boots and donned his bomber jacket.

She obviously wasn't letting him inside, which probably meant that his sister was good and mad at Leon. Well, good for her! Chris was glad; Kennedy deserved so much more, but Claire's wrath was infamous. Chris suppressed a chuckle, and brought the blankets up around his chin and closed his eyes. Despite being overprotective of his younger sibling, he knew that she was a big girl now...more than capable of making her own decisions.

The knock on the door brought her to her feet abruptly, as if her body had already made up her mind for her. Claire scrambled out into the dark hallway, the too-short pajama bottoms that she'd borrowed from Rebecca making a faint swishing noise in the absolute quiet that the house had fallen under. When she reached the door, her heart was jumping erratically in her chest; as she twisted the doorknob, it was near to bursting from her body. But instead of Leon's face, she was greeted by Wesker's visage. Claire couldn't keep from gasping at the sight of him. She looked at her brother's form huddled beneath his blankets, and then deciding that he was still asleep, Claire quickly stepped into her brother's boots and snagged his bomber jacket off the coat rack before stepping out onto the snowy porch.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she took a moment to stare at Wesker curiously. He was dressed in khaki pants that were too long, a light gray sweater, and lab coat. Despite his odd apparel, he stood there patiently, letting her make the first move. Sighing, Claire walked to the stairs, and sat on the ice-cold step. He did the same, sitting a foot apart from her. They sat like that for a moment or two; the silence comfortable between them. And then he spoke.

"I love you, Claire," Wesker said plainly. "You are the only thing that has ever meant anything to me. The only thing that really mattered." He was looking up at the vast nighttime sky, as if embarrassed by his words. "My life's work is nothing compared to what I feel for you... Claire, I've never been good at saying my feelings out loud; before you I had nothing but my work and my plans. Now that I've known you, loved you; I can't go back to that life."

"Why did you come here?" Claire asked him quietly, gazing up at his star-silhouetted profile. Wesker turned his face to hers, and put his hands on her cheeks lightly. His lips brushed hers softly, and Claire shivered at the lightning-bolt sensation that ran down her spine at the slight contact.

Perhaps it was Leon's rejection that had made her so vulnerable, or maybe it was the familiarity she felt in the clone's touch; but Claire leaned eagerly into his kiss. His lips were velvety against her own, and she moaned as his arms came down around her shoulders and pulled her slight form against his chest. Claire twined her arms around his shoulders, her fingers snaking through his blonde hair as she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss. Her pulse was racing, her whole body hot despite the cold night around them; and as Wesker pulled her onto his lap she opened her legs to straddle his narrow waist, their lips never breaking contact.

It was Wesker who finally broke the kiss, staring up into her eyes imploringly. Claire shivered at the molten amber color of his eyes in the moonlight, but didn't look away. He looked so handsome with his hair disheveled and his heart in his eyes that Claire couldn't help but to lay a tiny kiss on his forehead. A clone or not, this was Wesker. No one had ever made her feel the way she did now in his arms; not since she'd first been held by him a little over a year ago. Leon, while she loved him dearly, didn't want her. The man holding her here wanted nothing but her.

"You're shivering, Claire. Are you cold?" Wesker whispered worriedly. He had shrugged out of his lab coat before she could protest, and had it draped around her shoulders before she could refuse it. Claire noticed his own trembling, and thought that it was odd; he'd once told her long ago that the weather didn't ever really bother him. As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head, and spoke again, "No, I'm not cold. This is just the lingering effects of rigor mortis; I did die a few hours ago, you know. The numbness and muscle weakness will pass in a few days."

"What's it like? To die, I mean...to come back," Claire asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. He smirked, and shrugged.

"It's cold, mostly. Like being dunked in a frozen lake; first your fingers and toes go numb, your limbs get heavy and leaden, and no matter how much you want to move, you can't. And then it's like going to sleep after a three day battle. Your eyes get so heavy, and your brain can't hold onto any thought for more than a few seconds; the loss of the ability to breath is probably the scariest part. For a few minutes it's hell, but the drowsiness and numbness make it seem like a bad dream. And then there's nothing. It's like...like falling endlessly, with no bottom in sight. Waking up is harder, less dream-like. The cold is enough to make your joints ache, your teeth clatter uncontrollably in your mouth, and as the blood flows through your body again it's excruciatingly painful. Each heart beat is a knife coursing through your veins. Almost like hot water running over icy hands; only it starts from the inside." Wesker explained. Claire shivered again, but this time not from the cold.

"That sounds horrible," she hugged him tight around his shoulders, the side of her face against his. She felt his face turn into the curve of her neck, his wide hands splayed out against the arch of her back as he returned her embrace. The smell that was purely Wesker surrounded her senses, and Claire sighed contentedly. Denial could get you only so far: She had missed him so much.

"It was worth it, to get back to you, dear heart," Wesker said, and she smiled at the endearment. This was where she belonged, and as the first tears coursed down her cheeks in the frosty air, Claire thanked fate for bringing him back into her life. "Come with me," He demanded slowly, and Claire blinked in surprise at his request.

"Where? I can't just leave, Allie's sleeping, my brother..." Claire began, but was stopped as she looked up to see Chris standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame languidly. "Oh!" she exclaimed upon seeing him there so unexpectedly. Wesker's head turned, and she felt him stiffen beneath her as he saw Chris. Blushing as she realized that she was still straddling Wesker's lap, she stood awkwardly, her hands finding refuge in the coat pockets.

"It's cold outside. Why don't you two come in?" Chris said, shocking Claire. Instead of anger and her brother's usual pig-headed stance on her former relationship with the tyrant, he seemed calm and even mildly friendly. She wondered at how much of their conversation he'd caught; something must have been overheard to stop her brother from grabbing for his gun.

Claire followed her brother inside quietly, and smiled back at Wesker as he trailed her into the dark living room. Chris turned on a small lamp on the couch's end table, and grinned down at Sheva's sleepy eyed form as he sat on the arm of the sofa. Sheva eyed Wesker suspiciously, but managed a warm smile in Claire's direction; this felt like a lecture in the making. Claire's stomach was in knots as she sat down on the love seat, and after a brief hesitation, Wesker sat next to her. She glanced at the clock on the wall, shocked to see that it was only four thirty in the morning.

"I see that you're ever the cockroach, back from the dead," Chris said, his tone nearly sing-song. Wesker stiffened, but didn't take the bait. Instead he nodded, and agreed. "Why did you come here? What possible reason could have brought you to this doorstep? I know you're not thinking of taking my sister away from me, or my niece." Chris' eyes were hard as they locked with Wesker's, and Claire wanted nothing more than to face-palm at his obstinate challenge.

"The thought had crossed my mind, Christopher," Wesker said charmingly; he was matching Chris' tone, and Claire was surprised that her brother wasn't on his feet already at the obvious mocking. "But I would never 'take' them; not without Claire's consent. I believe that I have a right to ask her, seeing as she is the mother of my child and the one woman on the planet that has had the power to tear me from my work and steal the very air from my lungs. Your sister is everything to me, Christopher. More important than any of my work, any of my plans. Quite simply put, I'm in love with your sister."

"Oh, do elaborate," Chris' tone was anything but friendly; the malice nearly dripped from every syllable as they sprung from his mouth. Sheva put a hand on Chris' tense leg, as if in warning. The vein in his forehead was throbbing visibly; Claire couldn't think of a time she'd seen her brother this pissed off. Still, Claire marveled at the calming effect that Sheva's gesture had on Chris, she watched as some of the anger lines on his face disappeared.

"Christopher," Wesker began, his voice plainly beseeching for understanding. "Surely you don't think that I came here for any other reason. I don't want to separate your sister from you. I did not steal into here and abduct her and Allison; which would have been easy for me. I came here to ask Claire how she feels about me, and even if she harbors no love for me, to inquire if I may see my daughter from time to time. There is nothing else in this world that is more important to me. Whether you chose to believe me or not, I cannot continue trying to control the world. My actions in the past, while well intentioned, were folly; and for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Chris was on his feet now, in an instant the embodiment of male testosterone-fueled anger. Sheva was up, too, her hand on his shoulder seeming to be the only thing keeping the angry man from tearing Wesker apart. "Well...intentioned?" Chris gritted out, struggling to keep his cool. "Bravo team, half of Alpha team; they DIED because of you! I've gone through nothing but hell since you came into my life! You're the reason that I still have nightmares about that god-forsaken place; the reason that I lost Jill for two years, the reason why I was a wanted felon...twice! People don't change, not overnight. I can't believe you had the audacity to waltz up to that door," Chris said, pointing at the entranceway, "And think for even a millisecond that you'd be able to come in and spout such ridiculous lies, and I'd just sit here calmly and swallow every word that comes off that forked tongue!"

Wesker sat calmly, legs crossed and fingertips touching, looking thoughtful as he absorbed all of this information. The only sounds in the room for a few moments was Chris' labored breathing. Claire had to fight the urge to start gnawing at her fingernails; the tension in the room was so thick that she felt choked by it suddenly. As the silence stretched on, Chris' breathing began to level out; he looked almost confused at Wesker's dismissive refusal to fight. And that's when Claire saw Wesker's strategy. He was trying to win not only her over, but her older brother as well; Chris and him had only ever fought about everything. By refusing to go to blows, he would have half a chance to win this one.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Wesker said, "I can't deny it. I was a bastard, cold and heartless, and the things I've done in the past are deplorable. In the name of science and my own morbid curiosity, I've done atrocious things; worst things than you know. The list goes on, Christopher; I am no saint. Honestly, I'm growing weary of hearing what a horrible person I've been. Do you think I don't know? My sins are many, and there is no excuse for how I've behaved." Chris snorted; the two understood that it was a moot point.

With an impasse reached, the two were now on equal ground. Chris could no longer throw Wesker's past in his face; and without that ammunition he was effectively like an unloaded gun. Her brother's shoulders stooped in a kind of tired acceptance; and Claire sensed that he was softening a bit, a little of his anger diffusing. Sitting down, Chris sighed, and ran his large hand through his already tousled chocolate brown hair, and for the first time in a long time her brother looked his age.

"So you say you're done with experiments and world domination. What guarantees do I have? If Claire goes with you, how do I know that you won't run some freakish tests on her, subject her and Allie to a battery of medical trials? How can I trust you, when everything you've ever told me was a lie?" Chris groaned, and looked tiredly at Wesker. "Look, I don't doubt that you have feelings for my sister; hell, I've seen how you look at her and how you're acting now. That's a testament in itself. You care about her; that's obvious. Yet, you have to understand something. The young woman next to you is very important to me, too. I've raised her since she was a little girl, when our parents were killed in cold blood. I can't stand idly by and let the worst thing that's ever happened to me occur to her, too.

"Claire is my baby sister. I'm protective of her, and I always will be. If I thought for a second that you were good for her, you'd have my full blessing. However, you've done nothing to show me that you have an ounce of humanity within the dark depths of your soul. The only good thing you've ever done for anyone was Allison; that little girl is your one true achievement. As far as I'm concerned, until I see proof that you've changed for the better, I can't stand aside and let you corrupt my family." Chris said evenly, all anger gone from his tone.

"I understand, Chris. I'd never hurt Claire, or Allison. I love them. I've never been quite sure if your sister felt the same way for me, but I know that there's something there. Whatever it is, I'd like the chance to find out, and perhaps, if you're willing to give me a chance, you and I could do some of those male bonding things," Wesker suggested. "But I think that the hour is getting so late that it's nearly early; and I am regretfully without a place to stay. Would it be permissible if I retired here?" Wesker asked, his voice hopeful.

"I don't see why not. But you bunk with me, and I'm a light sleeper; so don't get any ideas." Chris said, yawning. Claire smiled to herself; perhaps everything would work itself out after all...


	18. Chapter 17: I love you not

Chapter 17: I love you not...

Chris woke up to the sounds of something frying, the smell of bacon instantly making his mouth water. For a moment, he sat in the rumbled sheets beneath him running his fingertips through his hair as he listened to the laughter coming from the kitchen. Sheva was still sound asleep on the couch, and that's when a rush of panic settled in: Wesker wasn't in the room. Staggering to his feet, Chris cursed in irritation as the blankets at his feet caught him and he kicked them away in frustration. He grabbed his gun holster and hung it loosely over his bare shoulders, drew the weapon to check that it was loaded, and fixed the Berretta back into place.

Wearing only his boxers and gun, he knew he must look absolutely ridiculous because he felt ridiculous; but even if Wesker's intentions were pure, he wanted the tyrant to take him seriously. Chris walked slowly further into the house, his footsteps quiet as they fell upon the plush light blue carpet, following the smells and sounds coming from the kitchen. Wary, he none the less tried to remain cool outwardly; Claire's taste in men wasn't anything entirely new to him, but he had to admit that her choice in Wesker definitely took the cake. Yet Chris had always had trouble denying his sister anything, and after Kennedy's performance last night, Chris just didn't have the heart to crush her for a second time in less than twenty four hours.

As Chris stepped into the kitchen, Barry's eyes fell on him worriedly from the table, and Rebecca and Carlos' smiles seemed too plastic to be real, not touching their eyes. Jill sat quietly, a far off look in her eyes; she was off in her own world again. Claire smiled at him warmly from her the stove where she was flipping pancakes, and Wesker had his hands buried in soapy water. The tyrant was the last to acknowledge Chris' presence, merely nodding in his direction, his face paling at the sight of the guns strapped across his wide shoulders. Chris had to suppress a laugh; the sight of his former boss washing dishes was just too priceless.

"Morning, all," Chris said, wishing that he could smoke in the house. Rebecca had almost tore his head off last night when he'd sparked up in her living room, kicking him outside into the cold blizzard heartlessly. Chris took a seat next to Barry, and pilfered a toothpick from the small ceramic rooster that sat beside the pig salt and pepper shakers, and stuffed it between his lips like the smoke he wished he had there. The entire kitchen was a mockery of the animals that were undoubtedly cooked here, cows rubbed hocks with pigs, chickens, and even a few cute ceramic lambs and sheep adorned some of the shelves. Chris had never understood the need that some people seemed to have to stare their food in the face as they were eating it; but, hey, to each their own, right?

The assembly of his friends at the table greeted him with little enthusiasm; no one seemed too excited to be in the same room with Wesker. Again, Chris just smiled as he made himself comfortable, and began talking sports with Barry and Carlos; trying, for Claire's sake, to ease some of the tension that clouded the room. It didn't take long before Barry and Carlos were arguing over their favorite football teams, and Chris was surprised at Becky's knowledge of the sport; apparently she was now an avid Spartans fan, having graduated from the RN program there. Wesker shot him a thankful glance, and Chris just smirked and nodded; Wesker had never been known for his ability to supply small talk, whereas Chris excelled in the area.

Becky helped set the table as Claire and Wesker carried over heaping plates of pancakes, sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and even a bowl of mixed fruit (Chris suspected that had been his sister's idea; she was always trying to make everyone eat healthy); the orange juice and coffee flowing freely. Breakfast past pleasantly enough, and they even got a rise out of the semi-comatose Jill when Rebecca made a comment about Chris' bulging biceps possibly being the result of steroids, to which Chris simply replied while flexing and kissing said muscle, "This is all me, baby!"

After helping clear the table, Chris headed outside for the first cigarette of the day, and tiptoed past Sheva's still sleeping form with Barry and Claire behind him. Wesker had disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower, and Jill had remained at the table, her food only half gone after an hour, while Carlos and Becky had agreed to load the dishwasher.

Slipping his boots on carelessly, and then donning his bomber jacket, Chris stepped out into the morning sun. He took a moment to marvel at the way the snow seemed to glimmer, before digging into his pack of Marlboros and lighting the cancer stick with his lucky Zippo. He'd had the thing since the day before the mansion fiasco; and superstition tended to rule Chris more than anything else. He never left home without it. Inhaling deeply, he sighed as the nicotine started to kick in, and then turned to offer Claire one.

His sister hesitated for a moment, but then plucked one easily from the box; and he lit it quickly for her before depositing lighter and smokes into his coat pocket. Barry was staring off into the distance, and it was a few moments before Chris broke the silence.

"What the hell are you thinking, Claire?" Chris said, his tone disappointed. When Claire's eyes flashed onto him angrily, he held up his hands in defense. "I don't mean it that way. I just want to know why you're so willing to trust him. It's not even Wesker, not really. Kennedy split, he's a jerk, but come on, Claire! Forget the fact that he kidnapped you, forced you to do god knows what, tried to kill you on Rockfort Island; forget that he's an ego-maniacal freak with the world's largest god-complex. What do you see in him?" Chris kept his tone light, almost as if he were joking; but he knew that Claire would get his meaning.

"I never told you everything that happened, did I? He never forced me, other than when he first stuffed me in his car's trunk. I fell in love with him," Chris winced at her words, but bit his tongue, and listened. "Wesker was sweet, gentle; and yeah, I had a hard time with it at first. It was like some alien being had replaced him suddenly. Everything I thought I knew about him was just evaporated everytime he would say something kind, or brush my hair behind my ear. Talk about Twilight Zone..."

"So what exactly happened? Spare me, though, from the goriest details, sis." Chris said, glancing at Barry, who was doing a poor job of pretending to be oblivious.

"Well, after I was stuffed in the trunk of his Cadillac, I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing I knew, I woke up in a room. I was scared out of my mind when Wesker came in the room; I thought he was holding me for some kind of leverage against you. Instead of a being a brute like I expected, he was actually quite charming.

"What can I say, Chris? I was alone, and he was the only one I could lean on. When I...when we....well, I felt horrible afterwards. Like I'd failed you. It was like I let you down by not being stronger, by not resisting as much as you would have." Claire drew heavily on her cigarette, not meeting Chris' eyes. "But I couldn't help how I felt; or how I still feel. I've never stopped loving him, Chris. I didn't tell him how I felt before, and now I've got a second chance. Leon leaving, it hurt. Yet this can't be coincidence. "

"Sounds like you're pretty serious about this," Chris said worriedly. He wanted to rail at her, shake her until she saw what he did when he looked at Wesker. The man was a monster; human or tyrant. A worthless, no good, bastard.

Claire sniffed at his remark, and continued to puff away at the Marlboro hanging in her lips.

"I think what your brother is trying to say is that no matter what, he loves you, and he's just worried about you getting hurt again. Wesker was never the most stable individual," Barry said gently, laying his giant hand on Claire's shoulder.

"I know, Barry. But I'm a grown woman, and I have Allison to think about now. Doesn't she deserve to get to know her father? I mean, I was little when my parents died, and it was hell on me. If I can give her what I didn't have, then I'm going to. I just wish that everyone would quit trying to warn me. I know what I'm getting into. Wesker has his flaws," Chris choked a little when those words came from Claire's lips, which earned him a cold stare. "Yet he's willing to give up his work for me and Allie. That has to show you guys something."

"I'm willing to let him have his chance. I'm not giving any promises, though. We've had too much bad blood pass between us for me to just forgive him," Chris said, pulling Claire into a tight hug. "You know I love you, and I'd do anything for you, sis."

"I love you, too, Chris. You're the best brother a sister could ever have!" Claire planted a quick kiss on Chris' cheek, and flicked her cigarette off into the snow. "It's freezing out here, I'm going inside; Allie should be up now."

As the door clicked closed, Barry shook his head at Chris.

"What do you want me to do, Bear? If I tell her no, she's just going to run off with him, and I probably won't hear from her for a year or better. I'd rather have her where I can keep an eye on her, and Wesker too." Chris said, as he flicked his smoke over the railing.

"Just be careful, Chris. You of all people should know what Wesker's capable of, and I'm not buying his crap about him quitting his 'work'," Barry said sagely, as he too ditched his spent sin stick into the snow. Turning to face Chris, Barry gave him a fatherly gaze, and patted his shoulder knowingly as he stepped up to the front door. "Just keep him close, and for god's sake, don't let him sleep with Claire; at least not for the first week. I don't want to see the poor girl get crushed again."

Chris pulled out his pack of cigarettes, and drew another one from the box. The last thing on earth he wanted to think about was his sister and his worst enemy sleeping together. The thought was almost enough to make him cringe. But he really was going to try to get along with Wesker; what little he'd overheard of their conversation last night had squashed any doubts about how his sister, and Wesker, felt about each other. As much as he didn't like it, Chris could only try to make the best of it, and against his better judgment, he was going to let Wesker have a fair chance.

Now that wasn't to say that Chris was going to make it easy for him...

Claire stepped into the steamy bathroom, letting the warmth envelope her as she dropped her pants to the floor quietly, and pulled her shirt over her head. The rhythmic sound of the water splashing down kept her approach silent, and yet as she stepped carefully over to the shower, the curtain slid open just a fraction; it was just enough space for her to squeeze through. Smiling, she lifted her foot, and climbed into the porcelain tub. Before she could get her other foot inside the shower, Wesker was there, pulling her up into his strong arms. Claire brought her mouth down on his hungrily, and wrapped her legs around his narrow waist, making Wesker groan low in his throat. The water raced down their bodies, running rivulets over all the hard muscled planes of Wesker's body the way that Claire wanted her hands and tongue to; but Wesker merely turned so that he could lean her up against the shower wall as he deepened the kiss.

His hands roamed over her body desperately, as if he were trying to memorize every curve and hollow. Wesker's lips skimmed over her skin lightly, causing a shiver to race down Claire's spine at the contact, and her breath caught in her throat momentarily before she sighed contentedly. This is where she belonged; in his strong embrace. This was beyond heaven.

Feeling heated, Claire drew her nails across Wesker's back, and he hissed his approval as he sunk two fingers in her womanhood slowly, his thumb grinding harshly against her clit. Trembling, Claire leaned back and looked down, watching as his digits slid in and out of her, before she met Wesker's smoldering gaze. If she had felt lost in the sounds and sensations before, it was nothing to how she felt under his watchful eyes; those beautiful, strange and exotic red-orange fiery eyes that made her whole body quiver with anticipation.

"I want you, Claire," Wesker whispered simply, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Mm...not as bad as I want you, baby," Claire returned, her voice low and seductive. She watched in amazement as he pulled his fingers out of her and sunk his throbbing member into her with painful slowness, her eyes darting back and forth between their bodies and his face. Slowly, lovingly, he drove into her, the water crashing down onto their forms unnoticed as Claire clung to his wide shoulders in rapture. Throwing her head back and letting a breathy moan escape her lips, Claire let herself be caught up in the moment; there was nothing but herself, Wesker, and the running water. Wesker captured her nipple in his mouth, suckling it and licking the tiny bud, his teeth sliding across the smooth surface of her breast as he brought his mouth slowly higher.

Tracing the curve of her neck with his hot mouth, Wesker grunted as he shifted, bringing Claire's form more fully into his arms. No longer using the wall as leverage, Wesker instead grabbed onto her silky hips, slamming into her unforgivingly; his pace increasing steadily. Claire bit her lip to keep from crying out, hard enough to draw blood; Wesker licked the dark stain from her lips, planting sweet and gentle kisses from her mouth to her shoulder and back again, his breath hotter than the water across her skin.

The walls around her were seeming to narrow, and Claire did cry out, almost a bark, as she suddenly climaxed, and it was only Wesker's lips capturing her own that saved her from letting the whole household know her pleasure. As Claire's climax was wanning, Wesker moaned loudly into her mouth, and she could feel his hot seed enter her womb.

They stayed like that for a moment, before Wesker gently set her down on her feet and brought her slight form against his.

"Are you mine, Claire?" Wesker asked in a whisper against her ear, his lips nibbling the lobe playfully. "Do you love me as much as I love you?"

Looking deeply into his eyes, she replied, "No." For a moment, the sounds of the rushing water was deafening, and she could have laughed as she watched Wesker's expression turn crestfallen. "I love you more." Standing on her tippy toes and holding his face with her hands, she kissed him hard, and it wasn't long until they were tangled together again; entwined body and soul.


	19. Chapter 18: Unresolved Issues

Chapter 18: Unresolved Issues

Chris stood outside the bathroom door, seething. He felt the old anger welling up inside of him; and barely restrained himself from battering the door down and yanking his sister out of the shower and away from that monster. If they were trying to be quiet, they were failing miserably; Claire's moaning could be heard by anyone walking through the hallway. Pushing his hands against his ears to block out the noises, Chris walked into the living room with his teeth grinding in his mouth, thoroughly annoyed and disgusted. Sheva was awake now, although barely; Chris felt bad for her. Before she'd picked them up in New York three days ago, he knew that she'd been on surveillance duty outside of a Tri-Cell hot spot; and probably hadn't slept until last night.

Still, she smiled at him as he walked into the room, only raising a thin brow at the sight of his hands cupped over his ears.

"Morning, tiger," Sheva said sweetly, fluttering her thick lashes at him. Chris' stomach gave a queasy lurch as he lowered his arms and plopped down on the couch beside her. Sheva snuggled in close to him, and he kissed the top of her head lightly.

"Good morning, sunshine. Get enough sleep?" Chris asked her, trying to forget about his sister and Wesker in the bathroom. She giggled, and sat up giving him an amused grin.

"Why are you wearing nothing but your shoulder holster and boxers?" She asked, brushing her bangs back.

"What? I think I look damn good like this!" Chris chuckled as Sheva rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't complaining; you do look sexy... I was just wondering." She stood up, and stretched, and Chris let his eyes wander over her curves in appreciation. Even just wearing simple plaid pajama pants and a black tank top, Sheva practically oozed sex appeal. He was happy to note that she wasn't wearing a bra, either; and that made him smile.

Rebecca walked into the room, her face an odd shade of red; she looked embarrassed. So she'd heard them, too.

"I know. It's disgusting," Chris said to her, and Sheva gave him a confused look. "Go into the hallway, you'll know what I'm talking about." Sheva did as she was instructed, but instead of turning away from the sounds, she followed them to the bathroom, and after a moment's hesitation, burst through the doorway and they all heard the toilet flush. Racing back out, giggling, Sheva quickly sat back down on the sofa; and Rebecca and Chris began laughing.

There was a startled yelp from his sister, and they heard the water stop. After a few minutes, Claire walked out, totally red-faced and bewildered, followed closely by Wesker. Neither one of them looked the least bit amused, which made all three of them burst out with laughter. Claire gave a loud, "HUMPH!" before stalking into the guest bedroom, and Wesker just gave a small smirk as he walked into the living room uneasily; he looked unsure of what he was supposed to do.

"That was...amusing." Wesker said, brushing his wet hair back with his fingers. "Does anyone have a cigarette?"

"I do. I'll come with you; we have to smoke outside here...the Nazi's have their rules," Chris said, standing up. He was in a better mood, after Sheva's shenanigans, and Rebecca stuck her tongue out at him as they disappeared through the front door; probably for the Nazi comment.

Swinging his coat over his shoulders, Chris shivered as he pulled out two Marlboros and lit them simultaneously before handing one to Wesker. They stood for a minute, Chris blowing smoke rings absently.

"I didn't know you smoked," Chris began, trying to break the silence.

"I don't, actually. I needed to talk to you about your sister. I heard your teeth grinding outside the bathroom door; you still don't like this, do you?" Wesker said more than asked.

"Can you blame me? After all, we've never liked each other, have we? Even when you were my captain, you hated me and I hated you. I wasn't even that fond of Kennedy with my sister, but you? You poisoned my sister, Wesker. I don't know why she feels like this about you, I don't know what went on between you two a year ago, but I know that everything you've ever touched turns to ashes. I'm concerned for her well-being, not to mention Allie's.

"But," Chris said, before drawing on his cigarette. "I love my sister. Kennedy bailed on her last night, shortly after we got back here. I wasn't going to stomp on her heart by telling you to get bent and fuck off with my nine mill. What I'm doing isn't for you, it's for her. If you hurt her, in any way, Wesker, I'll kill you." Chris' eyes were icy as they bore into Wesker's fire-red orbs, but the tyrant didn't look away.

"I can't change the past, Christopher. But I can give you my word that in the future I will not repeat any mistakes. I love Claire and my daughter. During the time that she was in cryo-stasis, I had so many hopes for our future. Uroboros was the worst mistake of my life; my biggest failure. Making an enemy of you was another. For the record, I never hated you when you were my point man. Despite your complete and utter disrespect of my command, I was quite proud of you," Wesker paused to draw on his cigarette, and his eyes followed a passing car. "I came here hoping to find forgiveness from you."

"That's asking a lot..." Chris said, his anger level rising.

"I realize that," Wesker sighed. "Yet I can't take Claire and Allison from here without your consent. All my life, I was led by others unknowingly. Spencer made sure that I was made to be as I am today; with only a small portion of my humanity intact. Everything I've ever done was mapped out carefully for me, years before I ever made the first steps into becoming something less human.

"If it hadn't been for your sister, I would have lost the last shreds of my humanity forever." Wesker looked thoughtful for a moment, but if he had something else to say, it never came from his lips.

"So you want me to forgive everything you've done, all the hurt and pain you've caused, and then smile and wave while you disappear with my sister and niece? Just because you say you're sorry?" Chris lashed out suddenly, his face flooding red with anger. "Forest, Enrico, Kenneth...Bravo team, half of Alpha team; they died because of you! There is so much blood on your hands, and so many lies on your tongue! I don't trust you." Chris tossed his cigarette over the railing, and stood nose to nose with Wesker, who immediately mimicked the posture.

"I'd step back, Christopher," Wesker's voice was low and menacing; but Chris didn't back down. He felt his nostrils flare, and the adrenaline was coursing through his veins fast and hot, like a venom. Stepping forward, Chris used his wider shoulders, tottering forward and swaying slightly back and forth, causing Wesker to step back.

"Make me," The challenge that issued from Chris' lips was strained, his barely contained rage burning in the ice blue of his eyes. Wesker brought his hands up and shoved against Chris' large torso, and in return Chris shoved the smaller man against the railing. Everything was in slow motion for a moment, and then all of a sudden Wesker swung a fist into Chris' chin, sending the bigger man sprawling to the ground.

Wasting no time, Chris was on his feet again, his body lunging forward. Catching the tyrant off-guard, the pair tumbled over the railing into the snow-covered lawn, fists swinging and tempers flaring. Wesker wasn't using his full strength, which further irked Chris. It was as if the bastard were toying with him, giving a small turn of his lips as he once again bested Chris with a devastating blow to his face. As Chris staggered back, he heard his sister scream Wesker's name.

Chris paid Claire no mind as he once again vaulted himself off the ground at Wesker, but instead of engaging the charge, Wesker side-stepped easily. Again and again, Chris swung at the tyrant's form, only to find the space empty. Chris was panting, sweat dropping off him in rivers; but he wasn't finished with this!

"Hold still, you fucking coward!" Chris growled out. Claire's screaming had brought Carlos and Barry out of the house, and the pair were holding his sister back.

"Chris!" Sheva screamed as she burst through the door, and before anyone could stop her, she had vaulted herself over the railing and effectively placed herself in front of Wesker. Walking forward, Chris made to push her aside, but the stubborn girl stood her ground against him, bringing her hands to rest on his chest. "Chris, stop this!"

His senses coming back to him slowly, he grabbed her hands off his chest, and pushed her back slightly. Still, Sheva didn't seem swayed by his refusal to listen to reason as she again stepped in his way. When Chris went right, she stepped in front of him, when he went left, it was the same. Pissed, but a little more in control of himself, Chris pointed over her to Wesker.

"This isn't over, Wesker," Chris said, his breath coming out in great white clouds in the cold winter air. Stalking back up the stairs, Chris didn't bother to look behind him as he shouldered past the crowd on the porch and into the house. He could sense Claire following him, feel the anger emanating from her.

"What the hell was that about, Chris?!" Claire asked angrily. Rounding on her, Chris could feel the residual anger rising again, and before he could control himself, he'd backed his sister against a wall.

His eyes burned down at her, and he put a hand on either side of her head against the wall, leaning in close until their noses were touching. "I want him out of my sight, Claire," His voice sounded foreign to him, too harsh, but he didn't care right now. "Go. I'm done dealing with it, done!" He could tell that the words had hurt her as he watched her eyes, so like his own, flood with tears, but Chris' anger refused to ebb. Turning, he walked down the hallway and closeted himself in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Looking in the mirror, he examined his face.

Chris' jaw was clenched tightly, lines of fury etched on his usually happy face. Chris tried to make them retreat, focusing on his breathing as he gently touched the bottom of his chin. A small bruise was starting there already, and he cursed. His blood was starting to cool in his veins, and he felt guilt start to encroach in on his senses. Hands shaking slightly, he turned the cold water on, and splashed his face.

Chris raised his gaze back up to his reflection.

He didn't like who he saw looking back at him.


End file.
